Nymphadora Tonks and the Liquor of Jacmel
by SnorkackCatcher
Summary: Newly qualified Auror Nymphadora Tonks puts her Metamorphmagus talents to good use on her first case when investigating the trade in a highly dangerous potion, while dealing with the complications caused by her very Black family history ...
1. Prologue: Round Midnight

_Sunday, 5th July 1994_

**(a) The Man Who Couldn't Take His Liquor**

Benjamin Farley tossed and turned uneasily on the small, uncomfortable bed in one of the outer holding cells of Azkaban Prison. It had been more than a week now since the Aurors had put him under arrest for something he hadn't done. Or rather, something they'd told him he'd done. They _could_ be telling him the truth. Even Aurors did sometimes. Because however hard he tried, and even when the occasional passing of a Dementor sucked happier thoughts from his mind, he simply couldn't remember exactly what _had_ happened to him that Saturday night.

He was reasonably clear up to a point. He remembered dropping into the Transfigured Toad at about nine o'clock for the going-away party of Whitey Wells, intending to have a quick one (or three) before Apparating back home to the wife up north. He remembered slapping Whitey on the back and buying him one of those foul Dragon's Breath cocktails he liked (waste of good Firewhisky, but there you go). He remembered meeting this absolute _honey_ who had drifted by from time to time and flirted with him quite outrageously, and deciding to stick around to see what might come of it. And he was fairly sure he remembered escorting her out of the pub at about a quarter to midnight.

After that ... things got very hazy indeed.

His only general recollection of the next day was that he'd spent it feeling as if he was floating. He could vaguely remember, in the back of his mind, some sort of voice talking to him, but he couldn't remember a bloody thing it had said. Later, he could remember heading out to Clapham Common, which was a part of London he'd never previously had any reason to set foot in. But he couldn't for the life of him remember why he'd done that. And then there was one short but sharp memory of a fight. But as to who he'd been fighting with, or what they were even fighting about in the first place ... he hadn't a clue.

He did however clearly remember the shock of abruptly coming to his senses, and finding himself in a small room with two Aurors looking at him in a very unfriendly manner.

The following few days were ... well, a nightmare. No other word for it.

He'd had many a run-in with the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol in his time, of course. In his slightly disreputable line of business that was only to be expected, after all. But he'd _always_ stayed well away from anything that could land him in the clutches of the Aurors. Fines were one thing. He could even handle a night or two in the cells. But now here he was, up on a charge that could leave him stuck here for _years_.

He'd known people who'd been sent to the Rock for a long stretch. He'd seen them when they got back. Well, at least they'd _looked_ like the people he'd known, on the outside. They didn't behave like the people they were when they went in.

The charge against him – he still couldn't believe it – was _attempted murder_. They'd shown him the evidence they had – the knife he'd been carrying, a St Mungo's medical report on the man he'd stabbed, eyewitness testimonies from an Auror who'd stuck his nose in and a couple of Muggles who'd seen him striding across the Common with the knife (it had taken him a while to realise that at least _their_ statements wouldn't count against him, most likely they'd had their memories wiped by now). But he couldn't remember any of it. The alleged victim was someone he'd never even heard of.

He'd told them this over and over as they questioned him. He'd become increasingly panic-stricken, until finally it began to dawn on him that somehow, they actually seemed half-convinced. He'd no idea _why_ they'd suddenly started to take his story seriously – it didn't sound all that plausible even to himself, despite it being absolutely true for once – but in the first wave of relief he hadn't felt inclined to look a gift Hippogriff in the beak.

Even when the word 'Veritaserum' was mentioned, he didn't object. He was willing to try anything to clear himself by that stage.

He slept fitfully. In his dreams – rather, in his nightmares – figures of dark rumour and terrified realisation, in hooded cloaks and with scabbed, slimy hands, sucked at his insides as he lay screaming.

**(b) The Oldest Newcomer in the Business**

The white-haired Auror breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he dipped his quill into the inkpot for the last time, added the final few sentences to his report on the case he was working on, and signed his name. He'd more or less taken the case on by default; his superiors had shown little interest in any of his suggestions or theories, until the Farley affair had suddenly made them realise that he might just have a point. Unfortunately, that case had been assigned to two of his colleagues. He'd asked for additional help, but realistically, he had little expectation that his request would come to anything. There were other priorities for most of the Ministry staff, such as the hunt for Sirius Black and the security arrangements for the Quidditch World Cup.

He tied the report to the leg of his post owl, and opened the window to let it fly away. He realised, on reflection, that he should probably have stayed at the Ministry to finish it; but it was far too late to worry about that now. At least it would arrive on Scrimgeour's desk early next morning.

He looked around the house sadly as he climbed the stairs to go to bed. It wasn't that there was anything obvious about the house itself to be saddened by – it had a nice cosy study, a pleasantly large lounge, a perfectly comfortable bedroom – but practically everything in it reminded him of his wife. He felt her absence keenly. He tended to stay up late these days, working past midnight, until sheer tiredness drove him to retire.

It had been nearly two years since she died, after nearly sixty years of marriage. He'd been forced to try to get used to sleeping alone again, hoping that maybe it would eventually get easier.

It hadn't so far.

**(c) The Dog in the Night-Time**

Ted and Andromeda Tonks arrived back home at about half past eleven that night. They'd spent the evening at their daughter's new flat (not too far away, but just far enough to establish independence while demonstrating affection for her childhood surroundings), holding a small, quiet family celebration in honour of her new job. They were prouder of her than they'd been able to say, but they knew Nymphadora – when she'd answer to that name – was an intelligent girl and didn't really need to hear it said.

As they opened the front door, a movement at the bottom of the garden caught Andromeda's eye, and she felt her heart freeze for a moment at the sight of the large black dog gazing at them from the end of the path. Her husband looked at her quizzically when she gave an involuntary gasp. He was Muggle-born, which meant that he knew little of the tales of death omens that his pure-blood wife had been raised with from childhood. Andromeda shook herself in annoyance as she realised that the dog looked like a perfectly normal, solid, everyday sort of dog, not a spectral hound of legend.

"Shoo!" she cried, waving a hand at it, slightly alarmed nonetheless. The dog looked at her with a curious expression – it might almost have been sadness – whined in an oddly gentle way, and slunk away into the night.

Around the corner he stopped in a small alleyway and sat back tiredly on his haunches. Earlier that evening, he'd spotted an empty house not too far up the road, with an overgrown garden which looked like as comfortable a place as any to spend the night. But before he could curl up there for a well-earned rest, there was just one more thing he had to do.

A youngish couple returning from the pub a few minutes later provided him with the opportunity to do it. The dog wagged his tail furiously in pleasurable anticipation. He liked to think of himself as generally decent, but it _was_ going to be quite amusing to act, for a few minutes, like the terrifying figure he was supposed to be. He'd be all right as long as he didn't overplay it.

He hadn't had any opportunities to play in a very long time.

**(d) The Concerned Parent**

Angelica Hallendale made a valiant attempt to stay interested in the late-night black and white film on BBC2. It was one that she'd always felt a touch of nostalgia for, dimly but fondly remembered from a rare trip to the cinema in her teenage years. That, of course, had been before she'd known that there _was_ such a thing as 'the wizarding world' – at a time when her life had been a great deal simpler. But at the moment, she had far too many other things on her mind to leave space for worrying about how the hero and heroine would ever settle their differences and get together. With a sigh, she pressed the 'off' button on the remote control (smiling wryly, as she often did, at how surprisingly impressed she felt at whatever 'Muggle magic' caused it to work).

Her son Clark had left earlier, storming out of the house and Apparating away from the front lawn without even checking to see if anyone was watching (fortunately, it was a quiet Sunday evening, and nobody was). He really never had been able to handle even very mild criticism.

She told herself firmly that he must have been under a lot of stress lately. But she knew that she made excuses for him.

As a mother who loved both her sons dearly, she dutifully tried to avoid comparing him with his younger brother, even to herself – but sometimes, it wasn't easy. Montgomery had been so much more successful in carrying on his share of the family businesses. She was so _proud_ that a wizard child had proven so adept a businessman in the Muggle world.

Another thing she avoided acknowledging to herself was the possibility that a little judicious magic here and there could go a long way.

Even her father might have approved of his grandson's success, despite the anguish and the mockery he had endured when his only daughter had run away with a wizard. She lay back in the chair and let her thoughts wander to her husband, as they often did. She could remember the first time she'd seen him as if it had just this moment happened; a strange young man from far-away California, winking at her as her father showed him into his study.

It had been a real Abelard and Heloise story in some ways, certainly a romance even better than the film she'd been trying to watch – one in which the Poor But Handsome Young Wizard came to do business with her father (who had trusted him); fell in love with the Rich Man's Beautiful Teenage Daughter (at first sight, naturally); won her heart (not with any great difficulty); and eloped with her by night (planning to Seek Their Fortune Together).

And they had sought it, and found it, in ways that had been frightening but ultimately exhilarating; a revelation to a pampered but overprotected girl who had rarely been allowed even to explore her family holdings without a chaperone. In a way, her previous seclusion had made her sudden introduction to the wizarding world easier to handle; it seemed merely one aspect of the many possibilities opening up all around her. The world had been something glimpsed from a car window, read about in a book, or seen on a cinema screen, not something that she had actually been allowed to experience for herself, and she would have been deeply excited to be part of it whoever she had run away with.

They'd had a terrific time, touring the world and getting into any number of scrapes; before eventually settling down when children had come along in the late nineteen-sixties. They'd accumulated a modest amount of wizarding gold over the years, and although her old family estates were gone, expropriated, in the wake of such devastating losses her father had been reconciled to _his_ only child before his death. What little was left of his holdings were based in quiet England of all places; and it had seemed as nice a place as any to raise their young family. Yes, her life story would have made an excellent script for a film. It just hadn't had a happy ending.

England, or at any rate wizarding England, had rapidly ceased to be quiet as open warfare broke out between the authorities and ... and Lord Whatever's forces, and the next ten years had been increasingly difficult for everyone in it. And then, towards the end of the war, Hank Hallendale had gone to a business meeting with a group of men who turned out to be Death Eaters. A team of Aurors had arrived at the house while he was there, and in the ensuing crossfire Hank had been hit by a Killing Curse, from one side or the other – none of the Aurors who survived the battle had known, or greatly cared, who had actually cast it. The Ministry had issued a curt apology and stated that it was unfortunate, but that these things happened in wartime.

And the foundation had fallen out of Angelica's world.

She sighed and made her way upstairs to bed, where she lay thinking for quite a while before finally falling asleep. It had been fourteen years since it had happened, and it still hurt to think about it.

And even after fourteen years without Hank there, it still didn't feel right to be sleeping alone.

**(e) The Newest Recruit**

The young woman glanced at the alarm clock by her bedside, which was registering a few minutes to midnight. She wouldn't normally have considered turning in yet, but she wanted to be up bright and early to make a good impression when she started her new job tomorrow.

It was only now that she remembered that sleep was something she'd never found easy to achieve when she tried going to bed early to calm her nervousness.

It didn't help that it was a stifling hot July night, either, not at all conducive to slumber. With a sigh, she realised that the very long hair she had at the moment was probably a distraction, weighing heavily on her in this weather. A strained expression crossed her face briefly, and her hair immediately shrunk into a very short, close-cut, almost masculine style. It wasn't flattering, but she didn't care. It was _much_ lighter, and she could change it into whatever she liked in the morning anyway.

Nymphadora Tonks picked up her wand and cast a Cooling Charm around the bed, and enchanted a fan lying on the dressing-table to wave vigorously, generating a slight breeze. She hastily jabbed her wand at it and muttered "_Silencio_" so the flapping wouldn't distract her. With that, she settled down.

She was really looking forward to what tomorrow might bring. She was sure that it was going to be the start of something big.

----------------------

**Note:** The story is set during the first half of GoF, and therefore takes place in 1994, following the 'standard' HP calendar (based on the Deathday Party in CoS). The days of the week, however, are based not on the _actual_ 1994 but on JKR's version, being calculated relative to GoF where October 30th is a Friday.


	2. First Impressions

_Monday, 6th July 1994_

Nymphadora Tonks tilted her head sideways to critically examine her reflection in the mirror. Changing her hair into whatever she liked had sounded fine in theory, more complicated in practice when aiming to make a good first impression in her new job. Her current style – brown, shoulder-length, with a slight curl at the ends – had been selected carefully from a number of trials. It wasn't anything remotely like the styles she normally favoured, which tended to run to spikiness and eye-catching colours, but then the general idea here was to look smart but conventional.

"Hmmm ... I don't know," she said meditatively. "What do you think?"

"It'll be fine, dear," replied the mirror patiently, for the fourth time that morning. "They don't really bother about how you look, do they? Didn't you say even the Minister wears a funny hat?"

Tonks' face broke into a mischievous smile. "_He_ probably thinks he looks like a typical Muggle businessman, but I bet not many of those wear green bowlers. Anyway, I don't suppose I'll run into anyone senior on my first day." She gazed at her reflection, still not entirely satisfied. "You're _sure_ you didn't think this look was better? More impressive?" Her face creased briefly, and her hair lengthened considerably and became silvery-blonde.

Mirrors weren't supposed to be able to cringe, but this one somehow managed to give the impression that it was doing so. "No, I didn't. Just play it straight, you said. _Try_ not to seem as if you're making a big entrance, you said. The Veela look is hardly inconspicuous. You might as well go as that Celestina Warbeck, sign autographs in the foyer, and have done with it." Mirrors weren't supposed to be testily sarcastic, either, but this one had had to put up with years of experimentation and agonising over questions most mirrors never had to bother with. Then again, most mirrors hung in the bedrooms of people who couldn't change their entire appearance on the slightest whim, and occasionally even the finest of looking-glasses had to be just a _little_ terse with their owners.

Tonks blushed slightly. "Yes, I suppose you're right." The hair changed back to brown, and she strode out into the kitchen. _Breakfast_, she thought nervously. _Right. Good idea. Yes. I really should at least have some breakfast before leaving. Don't want to do this on an empty stomach_. She waved her wand in the general direction of the bread-bin, with mixed results; several slices flew towards the toaster and bounced off, but eventually she guided a couple into the slots, and it started itself up automatically as it been charmed to do. Another jab of her wand set the kettle going, and Tonks leant back against the wall and closed her eyes, trying (without much success) to master her nervousness. She hated to admit it, but there was a jumpy feeling in her stomach, and it wasn't caused by a Peppermint Toad. Getting things right on her first day was very important to her.

Of course, if she had but known what the next few months would bring, the nerves might well have turned into terror. Then again, they probably wouldn't. Nymphadora Tonks was an unusual young woman in many ways, even allowing for the fact that she was a witch.

She took great pride in having just qualified as one of the elite of magical law enforcement. Being an Auror had been a dream of hers for as long as she could remember; and she still couldn't quite believe that she'd finally made it through the challenges of the training and the rigours of the examinations, let alone the misgivings about her motivations and family background that she'd needed to face before the Ministry would even accept her into the training programme. _Well, at least I _will_ be able to take great pride in it – just as soon as I get to work this morning_, she reflected. Technically, she had become an Auror as soon as she passed the final examinations; but Tonks knew that she wasn't going to _feel_ like one until she actually started the job.

Of course, she had special advantages and disadvantages of her own.

As a born Metamorphmagus she knew she was quite likely unique among current Ministry employees. As she understood it, Metamorphmagi were very rare; certainly none of her instructors in the Auror training classes had taught one before, and most of them had given the impression of working hard to avoid letting her know how highly impressed they were with what she could do. She expected that it would probably be immensely useful to her in her new career. It had certainly got her past the Concealment and Disguise exams without any trouble at all. The slightly confused examiners had been expecting to test candidates on their skill at self-Transfiguration with a wand; when they realised that she could change her appearance more easily _without_ one, they had scratched their heads, then shrugged, awarded her top marks, and passed on to the next candidate.

On the other hand, her clumsiness promised to be a serious career handicap unless she took great care where she put her feet. In her more reflective moments, she sometimes wondered if this was actually connected to her Metamorphosing ability. It could sometimes be hard to sense where your feet were when your legs were six inches longer than usual. Then again, even in her normal, natural, everyday form, she had an uncanny ability to trip over any solid object that happened to cross her path, so she had eventually ruefully accepted that it was probably just the way she was. It still made her wince to remember the near-disasters on the Stealth and Tracking practical during her final exams.

Tonks took as much time as possible over her toast and marmalade, but couldn't really work up an appetite. She checked the acceptance letter from the Ministry again for about the fourteenth time; it still said to be there to report to the Head of the Auror Office at nine o'clock. It didn't ease her nerves that as far as she could tell, she would be the only one starting today. Either they were staggering the start dates for her and her fellow trainees, or the others had been scattered all over the country to postings in the branch offices.

When she'd forced down as much food as she could, she glanced up at the kitchen clock again. It was still registering only quarter-past eight, doubtless from sheer cussedness. Tonks decided, after a few moments' thought, that she might just as well arrive bright and early – the longer she sat around at home waiting, the more nervous she was going to get. She looked around carefully one last time to make sure that she had everything she needed. _Wand. Check. Letter. Check. Brains? I'll get back to that one._ She swung her cloak around her, intending to Apparate into work, then stopped the motion half-way through. It _really_ wouldn't do to risk appearing on top of somebody, and looking like a complete idiot on her first day. No, a nice safe Floo journey seemed in order.

Tonks mentally patted herself on the back for having the foresight to have a fireplace specially installed in her flat. Non-wizarding flats generally didn't come with them as standard, and her Muggle landlord had asked a lot of pointed questions about fire regulations before reluctantly accepting her statement that it was there purely for decorative purposes. She'd arranged for an illusion of an electric fire to appear there to help things along, but it was probably the fact that it didn't actually connect to a chimney that had swung it for her.

"_Incendio_," she muttered, and a fire sprang up in the hearth. She grabbed a handful of powder and flung it into the flames, took a deep breath, and stepped in with a loud shout of "Ministry of Magic foyer!" It was only then that it dawned on her that the usual spinning around associated with this means of transport was unlikely to make her feel any less queasy.

Still, it was a fairly short journey across London to the Ministry, and Tonks managed to emerge in one of the fireplaces lining the walls of the Atrium without becoming too dizzy. She carefully stepped out of the flames and started towards the main gates at the end of the long hallway. Unfortunately, she'd overlooked the small decorative raised edge of the grate – at least, until it came to her attention when she tripped over it.

She shot forward as it caught her foot, and tried desperately to stay upright, but couldn't help colliding with an older wizard who was hurrying across the foyer and paying no attention whatsoever to the people popping out of fireplaces. Both of them sprawled headlong on the polished floor, to the accompaniment of laughter from the other early-morning commuters arriving at the Ministry.

"Oh, sorry!" she cried, slightly flustered by this hitch in her plans. "It was the grate, I just forgot it was there, are you OK, I didn't mean to jump you, I mean _fall_ on you, I'm dreadfully clumsy …" At this point, her ears finally managed to get the message that she was babbling across to her brain, and she hastily clamped her mouth shut.

The wizard picked himself up somewhat gingerly. He'd obviously taken great care with his appearance, with a neatly trimmed toothbrush moustache, and pinstripe robes that had clearly been perfectly pressed until they encountered Tonks. "Never mind, never mind, I haven't been hurt," he said brusquely. "Just be more careful in future. Some of us have to _work_ here, you know." He brushed himself down and strode off at high speed towards the golden gates at the end of the hall. Tonks watched him go and followed in a dejected manner. It wasn't the start she'd been hoping for.

Unfortunately, she somehow found herself in the same lift as the moustached wizard. Tonks tried to ignore his pursed lips and obvious disapproval of her, and instead concentrated on listening to the floor announcements, avoiding the paper aeroplanes that were flying in and out of the doors, and trying to read the upside-down headline on somebody's folded copy of the _Daily Prophet_ (yet _another_ sighting of Sirius Black – that only made about fifty of them in the past year).

Tonks hoped fervently that the neatly-dressed wizard wasn't going to turn out to be her boss; her luck held as he left three floors before her, to her considerable relief._ Could have been worse_, she reflected, with a return of optimism. _Could have been a _lot_ worse. That really would have been a great start to my brilliant career_. She got out at Level Two and headed along the corridor. Exceedingly violent winds and rain were battering on the windows lining its walls; she stepped back in alarm for a moment before she remembered that they must be at least a hundred feet underground, the windows were magical, and there wasn't _really_ a major natural disaster going on outside. On the other hand, the 'storm' wasn't exactly helping to lighten her mood.

In front of the entrance to Auror Headquarters, she stopped for a moment to gather herself. While she had been in here before, it had only been on guided tours and relatively short training exercises. This was the real thing. She couldn't quite make up her mind whether she wanted to stride in confidently as if she knew what she was doing, or edge in and hope no-one noticed her for a while. With another deep breath, and the feeling that whatever happened it was best to just get it over with, she pushed open the double doors and stepped through them.

The noise hit her first: a general background of chatter, and on her left raucous laughter coming from a group of wizards and witches gathered around a cubicle. The occupant popped his head out as his audience turned to look at the newcomer; he was about thirty, perhaps, with long hair that was tied back in a ponytail, and he had chosen to wear robes of an eye-hurting shade of scarlet. His appearance made her feel oddly reassured – if this was acceptable everyday Auror dress, she obviously had nothing to worry about.

"Hey, it must be our newest recruit!" he cried. "Now _that's_ more like what I signed up for. No offence meant to present company, of course." Two witches rolled their eyes. "Bentley Williamson's the name, Ben to those who know and love me."

"So that'll be no-one then?" said one of the witches (slightly too innocently) in a Welsh accent. "You must be Nymphadora Tonks – I'm Rhiannon, a little bit senior to our Bentley here and _far_ more sensible." She didn't look particularly senior, with an impish grin and a lot of curly blonde hair. "Welcome aboard, love, and don't let him put you off. All charms and no wand, look you!"

"Ouch. You are so cruel sometimes, Auror Davies. Anyone would think you didn't adore me really."

Tonks grinned. "Wotcher, Auror Williamson. I suppose it's good training for the job. They told me I'd need to cope with all sorts of hideously unpleasant things." It was a feeble sally but it appeared to strike the right note, as the whole group, including Williamson, roared with laughter.

"Right, then, Auror, let me give you a brief introduction to these reprobates here – you never know, you might be working with them," said Davies briskly. Williamson smirked and Davies rolled her eyes again. "Of course, if you're _really_ lucky, you might not be. Anyhow, you've met Ben – I'm sorry he had to be the first person you saw, obviously. This is Eleanor Finchley –" she indicated a plump witch with brownish hair, who smiled at Tonks pleasantly "– this rogue here is Donnacha O'Gregan –" a dark-haired wizard grinned at her words and winked at Tonks; the obvious source of his name was backed up by a set of emerald-green robes with a large Ballycastle Bats badge pinned to the lapel "– and this is Arnold Cornworthy –" a tall, slightly balding wizard with a hang-dog expression nodded at her "– who puts up with him. I mean, works with him."

"Did they tell you what I'll be assigned to?" asked Tonks hopefully.

"Not yet," said Davies with a shrug. "You're a bit early, aren't you? Tell you what, I'll take you up to the boss's office, he'll be glad to see you're making an early start. No doubt you'll see this lot around the place. If they aren't out visiting dodgy pubs disguised as a stray Kneazle, of course."

"Hey now, we only do that for work purposes!" called Williamson after them in a mock-insulted voice as she guided Tonks away. "And not more than once or twice a week! Well, three or four maybe. All right, five at the most, unless it's a special occasion, of course ..."

His voice faded out into the general background noise as they walked across the office. Rhiannon Davies introduced the Aurors in the cubicles that they passed, reeling off a series of names and current cases; Tonks tried to remember a few of them, but soon realised that her memorisation technique seemed to have gone rusty in the short time since her final exams. Most of the Aurors glanced up to see who their new colleague was, and a few waved cheerily. A bald black wizard – Davies had called him something like Shackleton – looked at her with particular curiosity, and what seemed to be (but probably only in her nervous imagination) a disapproving expression.

Davies stopped at the far end of the office in front of an oak door bearing a small brass plate that read:

_RUFUS SCRIMGEOUR  
Head of the Auror Office_

Tonks suppressed a smile at the name. It wasn't as if she was really in a good position to make jokes about such things.

"Scrimgeour's a reasonable enough sort once he's convinced you can do the job – unless you _really _screw something up, of course," whispered Davies. Tonks wasn't sure if that was meant to be reassuring, but if so it wasn't very effective. "He hates getting bad publicity for the Department. But like I said, he should be pleased you've arrived nice and early. He's a stickler for work himself – I wouldn't be surprised if he Transfigured his desk into a bed and slept here sometimes. Good luck, and try not to be put off if he's a bit brusque. He usually is."

Tonks nodded; she was familiar with Scrimgeour's voice and manner. "I know. I was on the receiving end of it at my interview," she said shortly.

"Well, we _all_ were," said Davies with a grin.

She tried to return the grin, but couldn't quite manage it. "Yeah, but I reckon I got special treatment, even for an Auror candidate." That had sounded a little bitter even to her ears, and she quickly added, "Thanks for introducing me ... er, Rhiannon."

Rhiannon Davies raised her eyebrows in inquiry, but Tonks just shook her head, took yet another deep breath (it seemed to be the morning for them) and knocked on the door. A terse voice from within said "Come!"

"You're on, love," said Davies.

Tonks nodded and stepped into the room. She wasn't really looking forward to meeting Rufus Scrimgeour again.

- - - - -

Scrimgeour was the only person on the other side of the door. She wasn't sure if that made her feel relieved or not. His bushy eyebrows rose when he saw who it was, and he gestured to her to take a seat.

"Good morning, Miss Tonks," he said shortly. "I wasn't expecting you until later, but I'm glad to see you're here early. So what do you think of the place now you're an employee and not a tourist?"

"Er - pretty much what I thought it would be, sir." She hesitated, wondering what to say next. Scrimgeour and his office were rather intimidating for a novice. He looked at her with a shrewd expression.

"I suppose you're wondering what I think of you, aren't you? After all, we've not met that often, have we?"

"No, sir. Only my initial interview, really. Well, I saw you a few times in passing in the Department while I was training, and you spoke to me at the graduation ceremony, but that interview was the only time we actually ... er, had much of a conversation."

He studied her for a moment, then his face broke into a very slight smile. Although it looked like an expression that didn't get a great deal of use, it was at least moderately reassuring. "Yes, Miss Tonks, we were harsh with you at that interview. We had to be. The first and most important thing that we need to discover about an applicant is what they're like – see how they react, get a feel for how they think, find out how they behave. Especially when, as in your case, their background gives us cause for concern." He sat back and gazed at her through his wire-rimmed spectacles. "If truth be told, I was rather impressed by the way you came back at us."

"Oh." Tonks was caught slightly off-guard. "I didn't really think you … I suppose you just touched a raw nerve. I thought I might have blown it actually," she added candidly.

Scrimgeour gave her a measured look. "Yes, you might have done - if that interview had been at the end of your training, rather than before it started. To begin with, we're more interested in your attitude than your self-control. But I'll do you the credit of assuming that you've learned how to deal with pressure fairly well during the last three years. Believe me, if you hadn't, you wouldn't be standing here now."

"No, sir."

Scrimgeour looked at her appraisingly. "I think you'll do, Auror. I've had good reports of you from the instructors."

"Oh. Thank you." That was a pleasant surprise.

"Indeed. Now, I'm not a man who believes in letting new recruits drift around for a couple of weeks 'getting the feel of the place' or some such nonsense. Wastes their time and mine. You'll go straight into an investigation. Better be something you can learn from as you go ..." Scrimgeour glanced around his desk, then reached for a piece of parchment lying on top of a pile. "Hmm, yes, why not?"

He picked up his wand and tapped a small framed mirror on the desk, saying "Cassius Smethwyck" into it in a carefully enunciated voice.

There was a short pause, then the mirror unfolded to about eighteen inches square and a voice came from it. "Yes sir?"

"Cassius, I've just read your latest report. Good news for you – I think you may be right. I'm going to give you what you asked for." A voice from the mirror said something Tonks couldn't quite catch, and Scrimgeour shook his head. "Trill? Sorry, no. We're too short-staffed at the moment, what with the World Cup and this Black case on top."

He glanced up at Tonks as he said this, and she felt her eyes widen as she realised what he was talking about. She brought her attention back to what Scrimgeour was saying. "It's her first day, so you'll have to show her the ropes, but according to Bruno she knows what to do with her wand. And she's got interesting talents of her own that I think you'll like. Come in here and I'll brief you while she's getting kitted out downstairs."

"Kitted out?" said Tonks curiously, as Scrimgeour tapped the mirror with his wand again and turned to her.

"Yes, Auror, kitted out. Now you've joined us, you'll need the right tools for the job. We don't send you out with just your wand, you know." He shook his head at Tonks' enquiring look. "You've got paperwork to fill in before you can start, though. Get that sorted, then go and talk to the Enchanted Instrumentation people. When you're finished there, come back here and see old Smethwyck for details of what we want you to do. We'll get you a cubicle next to him. Off you go."

Scrimgeour sat back, clearly considering the conversation over. Tonks nodded, muttered something noncommittal and went back out into the main office, breathing a silent sigh of relief. Once again, that could have been a _lot_ worse. Williamson popped his head out of a cubicle as she walked past, winked and gave her a thumbs-up, and Davies leapt up to meet her.

"How did it go?" she asked excitedly.

"Oh ... fine I think," said Tonks. "Is he always that abrupt?"

"Pretty much, I'm afraid. What's he got you doing?"

"I don't know yet. He spoke to somebody called Cassius Smethwyck through a mirror. Is he one of your team?" she asked hopefully.

"Cassius?" Davies looked taken aback. "No, not really, he's pretty much a sort of roving law unto himself. I'm surprised Scrimgeour assigned you to him actually. Don't worry," she added hastily, as a look of alarm must have crossed Tonks' face. "He's a really nice bloke, you'll get along fine. Honest. I'm not entirely sure what he wants you to do, but one of the things he's been banging on about seems to have worked out and it's ... well, anyway if it's what I think it is, he'll be _very_ happy to tell you all about it himself. Looks like he's convinced Scrimgeour, anyway."

"It sounded that way." Tonks suddenly remembered where she was supposed to be going first. "Do you know where I go for the paperwork? Apparently I have some forms to fill in, and then I have to go find the 'Enchanted Instrumentation Department', wherever that is?"

Davies giggled. "Oh, of course, yes. Our resident geniuses. You'll get writer's cramp from the forms, I'm afraid, Nymphadora." She noticed Tonks wince. "What's the matter?"

"Just Tonks, yeah?" she replied pleadingly. "I've been trying to live that first name down since I was a kid."

"Oh, all right," said Rhiannon, grinning. "You'll have to put it on the forms though. You have to sign all sorts of things to say who you are and where you live and what your wand's made of ... and that you've read and understood all the regulations."

"I have?" said Tonks uncertainly.

"For form's sake. I mean, I don't suppose anybody actually _has_ read them. Well, Scrimgeour perhaps, but then he probably wrote them in the first place." She looked at Tonks with a touch of sympathy. "Come on, I'll show you to the administrative offices, they're only a few doors down the corridor on the right. They'll tell you where to go when you've finished."

- - - - -

Rhiannon Davies hadn't been kidding about the writer's cramp. Tonks spent all of the morning and a good part of the afternoon filling in endless rolls of parchment, recording everything from her Floo network address to her next of kin. Eventually, she escaped to find the Enchanted Instrumentation Department, which sounded much more interesting. It turned out to be in the basement of the building, along a dimly lit corridor that the lift didn't even go down to. For the third time that day, she found herself hesitating outside a door.

She knocked a couple of times, but there was no sign that anyone within had heard her. She tried again, and then a third time, but with the same result. She paused for a moment or two, irresolute; then with a shrug, she tentatively opened the door and stepped in, half-expecting to be shouted at. Most of the people working there, however, appeared to be no more than mildly interested that they had a visitor at all, and Tonks looked around her in slight confusion. She didn't quite know what she'd expected the place to look like, but subconsciously, she'd imagined there would be some sort of counter at which she would have to apply for the equipment she needed. Whatever she'd imagined, it wasn't anything like the scene that faced her.

The instrument enchanters appeared to prefer working in messy surroundings. Benches and tables covered in curious-looking objects were arranged higgledy-piggledy around the room. A wizard with rolled-up sleeves and a truly impressive bushy grey moustache looked up from one of the tables, caught her eye, and smiled. "Can I help you?" he asked politely.

Tonks grinned back at him in relief. "Hope so. I'm Tonks, I just joined the Auror Office. I'm supposed to pick up some stuff I need here? Hang on ..." She dug out the small ID scroll she'd been given downstairs and tapped it with her wand; it unfurled to show her photograph and Auror credentials.

"Ah, excellent, excellent!" said the man. "We haven't had any new people for a couple of years. Welcome aboard! I'm in charge of this lot, by the way. Quentin Kraft's the name, but you can call me K, everyone round here does. They do like their little joke." He waved a hand in the general direction of the other wizards and witches in the room, who looked up briefly and nodded to Tonks, before returning to whatever it was they were working on. They obviously found it much more interesting than a mere new recruit.

Kraft fussed about, glancing around the tables. "Now let me see, you'll be wanting the standard issue stuff. Just a couple of essential things really, though you can always ask if you need something special. Some of your lot cart around so much stuff I'm surprised they can fit it all in their robes."

He pushed aside some sheets of parchment on which little dots were moving, found an object that looked like a small multi-bladed pocket knife, and handed it to her. "Here you go. This little thingamabob has a number of useful functions – this blade opens locks, you see, and this one doors, even if they've had something stronger than _Colloportus_ cast on them. Run it around the edge, quite easy. This little pointy thing here, miniature poison detector, jab it in food or drink and it'll turn red if it's been tampered with. Spots most of the well-known potions and venoms. It's not infallible, I'm afraid, it's a bit too small, but quite handy. Then – oh, never mind," he said, spotting Tonks' slightly glazed look as she tried to memorise this information. "There's an instruction scroll here, take it away with you and you can see what's what when you've got a bit more time."

He turned to rummage through the piles of equipment while Tonks skimmed through the instructions. The 'knife' had a number of interesting-looking attachments that she couldn't wait to try out, even if some of them were rather quaint (such as a tool for charming stones out of a Hippogriff's hooves, which didn't seem likely ever to prove useful).

She looked up just in time to catch a small rod he threw to her. "Here you are, my dear, you might as well take a few odds and ends while you're here. That's a Secrecy Sensor, these –" he handed her a packet of buttons "– are Panic Buttons. Fix them to your robes, just press hard on them and it'll alert your team. This is useful –" it was a small circular gadget with a needle "– locator compass, sensitive to wizards and witches, just tap it with your wand and it'll point at the nearest one of our people. Useful for spotting them in a crowd of Muggles." Tonks raised her eyebrows at this, but forbore to point out that doing _anything_ with a wand in a crowd of Muggles was likely to cause a lot more trouble than it was worth.

"Ah yes, the most useful thing we can supply you with, communications!" Kraft pulled something out from underneath a pile of small unidentifiable silvery gadgets. "Very important. This is our latest little toy. Experimental issue for Aurors only." He pushed a small object across the table at her with a look of pride.

Tonks picked it up in disbelief. She thought she recognised the device, although she'd never actually used one. "This is a _mobile phone_, isn't it? Um, is this some sort of mingle-with-the-Muggles thing?"

"Yes, indeed!" His enthusiasm was obvious. "My own invention! We used to supply Aurors with two-way mirrors that you could talk into –" _like Scrimgeour's_, realised Tonks "– but they were a bit hard to explain away if a Muggle saw you using one. These work on the same principle, but they're built into a Muggle telling-fone, so they don't look suspicious at all!"

"Good. Terrific. Er, how _do_ they work, Mr Kraft … I mean, K?"

"Oh, they're very easy to use. All you have to do is speak the name of the Auror you want to contact into it, theirs will make a sort of ringing sound, and you can talk."

"Like a sort of private Floo network, then?" said Tonks, impressed.

"Exactly!" He seemed pleased that she'd grasped the principle so quickly. "You'll see who it is in the mirror – oh yes, forgot to mention, that little square part at the top expands into a mirror when you're talking to somebody. It's enchanted so only you can see it, so don't worry about the Muggles getting curious." A thought suddenly seemed to occur to him. "Er, if you're using it in a Muggle street, you might want to press a few buttons first so everything looks they way they expect."

"Right." Tonks was grinning now. "I don't suppose you can still actually use it for the original purpose then?"

"Talk to Muggles, you mean?" he said, with more than a little pride in his voice. "Oh yes, it – what's their word – _inthefaces_ with their system, so you can call to them or they can call to you and it'll link up quite nicely. Had to charm it to do that, of course – the other spells scramble its innards, unfortunately. _Really_ tricky one, took me ages to get right during the development phase. I kept hearing suspicious comments from their operationals who wanted to know what nutwork I was on." He slapped his forehead. "Merlin's beard, that reminds me – don't let a Muggle touch it, it's enchanted to stop working completely if they do."

"Huh?" said Tonks, nonplussed.

Kraft shook his head sadly. "No choice, my dear. Official rules. My prototypes didn't do that, but unfortunately somebody left one behind in a pub, and a Muggle picked it up and started using it. Well, you can imagine what happened. Caused a huge row when somebody called it – the mirror popped out, of course, and the fellow on the other end blithely started discussing Dark Wizards and curses without looking to see who he was talking to. That Misuse of Muggle Artefacts chap Weasley wrote a very critical report. Went all the way up to the Minister's office, I believe, and the only way Amelia Bones was able to calm them all down was to say they would just go completely kaput if they got into the hands of a Muggle."

"Oh. Um, so is there any way I can fix it if, say, I trip and drop it and a Muggle picks it up?" Tonks crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping that he wouldn't realise that she was asking because this was exactly the sort of thing she might do.

"Not by yourself, I'm afraid. But if something like that happens, take it in to Magical Maintenance, and they'll be able to reset it for you." Tonks breathed a silent sigh of relief. "You'll have to put up with it if they start complaining. Please don't actually _lose_ it though, they're very difficult to make with all those fiddly charms on them. Since nobody else has bothered to learn how to do it, I'm afraid I get lumbered! That's why we're only issuing them to Aurors at the moment."

"Right you are, K." Tonks kept her fingers crossed. "Is that it, then? You don't supply Invisibility Cloaks or anything like that?"

His eyebrows shot upwards. "Invisibility Cloaks? Merlin's hat, no, far too expensive for general issue. If you really need anything unusual like that for an investigation you can put a requisition form in, of course." He looked around vaguely at the tables, but obviously didn't spot anything that reminded him of something that should be mentioned. "Anyway, that's all you actually _have_ to have, I think. But let us know if you need anything in particular and we'll certainly see what we can do."

"Thanks!" Tonks waved to the instrument enchanters on the way out, but only one or two of them looked up, briefly, before returning to their work. She shrugged and closed the door gently. _Best not interrupt them if the work is so absorbing ..._

She looked at the 'mobile' curiously, then on impulse spoke into it: "_Cassius Smethwyck_."

It buzzed a couple of times, and then a small mirror, about six inches square, opened out. "Yes?"

The man in the mirror had a kindly face, which was rather wrinkled, and a shock of very white hair. He looked vaguely familiar, but Tonks couldn't quite place him. He smiled at her. "Don't tell me, let me guess – Nymphadora Tonks?" Tonks nodded. "Very well, come on up then. I've been hearing a lot about you."

- - - - -

Cassius Smethwyck's cubicle turned out to be on the other side of the partition from the ones where Tonks had met Williamson and the others on her way in that morning. He sprang to his feet as she arrived and pulled out a chair, waiting for her to sit down before returning to his seat.

"Good morning, Miss Tonks," he said with a friendly-looking smile. "I do hope you won't feel you've drawn the short straw working with me. I'm Cassius Smethwyck, but of course you knew that. Please do call me Cassius, won't you?" He had a courtly, old-world manner and a mellow tone of voice that Tonks found slightly amusing.

"Thanks, Cassius," she said. "I'm Nymphadora Tonks – but you knew that as well, obviously. Call me Tonks."

"Oh, certainly." Smethwyck raised his eyebrows slightly, giving the impression of a man who was surprised, but too polite to ask for details. It took a second or two for Tonks to realise why. "Oh, sorry!" she said, mortified. "That sounds horribly rude, doesn't it? It's just ... I've always hated my first name. You don't _really_ mind calling me by my surname, do you?"

"Of course not, if you prefer it." His eyes twinkled. "To be honest, I suppose my own first name is a bit unusual, too, but it's a family tradition with the Smethwycks to give the children classical names."

Tonks chuckled in relief. "Fine by me. My mother always makes the excuse that names like mine are a family tradition too – but my dad told me once that the _real_ reason for it was that she took it from a character in some old book she liked as a kid."

"Would that be _The Adventure Club_ stories?" asked Smethwyck with interest. "I read those when _I_ was at school. I used to read them to my daughter as well, although I'm not sure she enjoyed it as much as I did." His eyes twinkled again, in a way that suggested this came quite naturally to him.

Tonks raised her eyebrows in turn. She'd never come across anyone other than her mother who'd admitted to actually reading the books. "Sounds like the right title. I never fancied reading them, to be honest."

Smethwyck shook his head. "You missed out on a treat then, if I may say so. It really is a classic wizarding children's series – uh, well, it was in my day, anyway." He looked slightly embarrassed. "They're about this group of children who run around at school with their pet Crup, having adventures under the noses of their teachers, and defeating plots by Dark Wizards. Nymphadora Norville was one of the heroines. You'd probably actually quite appreciate being named after her."

Tonks shrugged. She didn't think it would have made much difference, personally – a funny name was a funny name, especially when you were being teased about it – but she didn't want to upset her new partner right off the bat. "Oh well, maybe if I have my own children to read to one day I'll look them up. Come to think of it, with the stupid names that run in mum's family, I suppose 'Nymphadora' seemed relatively normal to her." She sighed. "I just wish she'd given me a decent _middle_ name at least. I could have used _that_."

"Why, what is it?" asked Smethwyck curiously.

Tonks went through a brief internal struggle. "Promise you won't tell anyone? I hated having to write it down on the forms this morning."

He grinned. "Auror's honour. How's that, er – Tonks?"

Tonks grinned back. "Fine then. It's, um –" her voice dropped slightly "– _Diaphanta._"

To her surprise, comprehension appeared on Smethwyck's face and he chuckled at her. "Oh, I see. Most appropriate. I suppose you wouldn't know, but Diaphanta Dennison is the other heroine of the stories."

A great light dawned on Tonks. Although she really, _really_ wished her mother had grown up with a different selection of reading material … at least her choice of names made some kind of sense. Still, she'd have been _much_ happier with her father's preference of 'Katherine' (a name he still sometimes used for her when her mother wasn't listening).

Her attention snapped back as she realised that Cassius was still speaking.

"... to use one of my middle names, too, but they happen to be Septimus Cato, so I suppose you could say Cassius was the best of a bad job. Anyway, enough about our unfortunate names," he said slightly guiltily. "I should be explaining what I want you to work on, Tonks. Did Scrimgeour tell you anything?"

"No." That seemed like a safe answer, and had the merit of being entirely true.

"Ah." Smethwyck reached into a desk drawer and riffled through some pieces of parchment, then frowned.

"Bother," he said. "I thought I had my notes here, but I must have left them at home after I wrote my report last night. You'll need to read through them later, Tonks, but the summary is: I think we have a problem with a dangerous potion that seems to have appeared on the black market in some quantity recently. It's taken me quite a while to assemble information on possible uses – it's rather obscure, and I seem to be the only person in the Department who knows that much about it. Past experience, I'm afraid, we had an outbreak of cases about twenty years ago at the start of the war. I haven't been able to find out very much – well, anything at all, to be honest – about where it's coming from, so I suggested we needed someone to do some, er, _undercover_ work."

Tonks was listening with wide-eyed interest, but at this point Cassius Smethwyck visibly hesitated. "I must admit, though, I _really_ don't like the idea of throwing a new Auror in at the deep end like this. But Rufus Scrimgeour was dropping mysterious hints that I should ask you about some special skills at disguise that you have?" His voice rose slightly in mild inquiry, but he couldn't quite hide the look of scepticism on his face.

She nodded. "Yeah, I do. Well, sort of anyway. I'm a Metamorphmagus – do you know what I mean by that?"

This time, his eyebrows didn't rise so much as shoot up towards his hairline. "Good grief. You mean ... you can ... you don't need ...". He stopped, obviously at a loss for words.

Tonks smiled at him. "Here, let me demonstrate." The familiar strained expression appeared on her face several times, as she changed her appearance successively into a tall grey-haired woman, a middle-aged black woman with close curls, as near a likeness of Madam Bones as she could manage from memory, a short, plump teenage girl with long wavy tresses, Celestina Warbeck the Singing Sorceress, and then back to her normal appearance.

Smethwyck hitched his jaw up from where it had fallen and actually applauded. "Amazing. Truly impressive. Did you learn that or is it a gift?"

"No, you have to be born that way. Useful though."

"I'll say." Smethwyck gazed at her with real respect. "It was better than I could do with a wand, and I've had decades of practice at it."

"_Decades?_" asked Tonks. She was annoyed to find that she felt slightly overawed by that. "How long have you been an Auror, Cassius?"

To her surprise, he seemed thoughtful. "I suppose it depends on how you count it, really. I retired from the Department after You-Know-Who fell – I thought I'd done my bit by then. But when – well, when my wife died a couple of years ago, I pulled a few strings and asked to come back." A bleak look briefly crossed his face, but then he smiled again. "So you can think of me as either the wise old head of the Department, or as the oldest newcomer in the business. Whichever you prefer."

"How does everyone else think of you?" The question slipped out before Tonks could stifle it, and she bit her lip.

A rather sad smile played across Smethwyck's face this time. "They don't quite know what to do with me, Tonks. I'm sure they think I'm hopelessly old-fashioned, but since I was fighting Dark wizards before most of them were even born, they can't really say too much. So ... I'm tolerated. I get to see the information that comes in, and ask if I can investigate things I think deserve a closer look, and Rufus and Gawain attach me to cases on an _ad hoc_ basis when they think my experience might come in useful. It's not quite the same as it was, but it's still better than sitting at home brooding." He raised his eyebrows again. "And I really don't know why I'm boring you with all this. My apologies." He gave her a little bow.

Tonks smiled. It seemed she'd struck lucky with her new partner. "Cassius, I don't mind at all. Honest. Old-fashioned is fine by me." Her smile widened into a grin. "Even if you do talk a bit like an Edwardian gentleman, you old rogue."

"Well, I _was_ an Edwardian gentleman." Seeing the puzzled expression on Tonks' face, he added, "I first joined the Department back in ... just a moment, it must have been ... good grief, 1909. Time flies, it seems like yesterday sometimes."

She had to ask. "Cassius, how old _are_ you?"

"One hundred and five." He grinned again.

Tonks knew that she must look astonished, but she couldn't do anything about that. "You don't _look_ it," she said finally. "Even for a wizard."

"Still in my prime, I like to think, but a trifle late to be starting a career, is it not?"

"Um." There wasn't really a good answer to that. Cassius wasn't exactly _ancient_, not for a wizard, but as far as she knew (which, admittedly, wasn't very far) it was definitely unusual for anyone to come back as an Auror after a decade in retirement, and she reckoned that he must have had to _really_ work hard to bring his skills back to the required level. With that thought, it suddenly dawned on her where she'd seen him before – he'd dropped into a few of their training classes, sitting right at the back of the lecture hall and taking notes. Everyone had just assumed he was some kind of Ministry assessor checking up on the lecturers.

He was still chatting pleasantly: "We were quite the genteel family back then. Actually, my parents weren't too pleased with me when I joined up; they thought the job rather unbecoming for a Smethwyck. We didn't have this modern fast-track training programme in those days, you see, you had to start in the ordinary Magical Law Enforcement Patrol and work your way up. It usually took five or ten years, but by the time I made it to Auror they'd become used to the idea. Once I started to do well for myself, one or two of the younger ones in the family were even persuaded to follow me into the Department and make a career of it." There was a twinkle in his eye again. "In fact, it's quite disconcerting to see how far people I knew have progressed in the time I was away. Even Rufus Scrimgeour himself is actually distantly related to me – he's my great-nephew by marriage – so it's a little embarrassing that he's so far senior to me now. Especially as we haven't always got along that well, frankly. And the family might have agreed with you about 'rogue'. Bit of an all-round black sheep, that's me."

Tonks smiled again, but only to herself. She couldn't help taking that with a large grain of salt. In her experience of men (which was certainly more extensive than on the details of Auror career paths) it was the gentlemanly types like Cassius who always liked to think of themselves as being terrible rascals, despite all evidence to the contrary. On the other hand, she liked him, so she wasn't going to hurt his feelings by saying so.

"Well, I'll have to bear that in mind then. Anyway, er, shouldn't I be reading up about something? I don't want to get into trouble on my first day here."

"Oh of course!" Cassius consulted his watch – Tonks was amused to see that it was a very Edwardian-looking one on a chain, rather than a wristwatch – then shook his head. "Actually, it's half-past four already, so it can wait until tomorrow now. I'll bring in my notes in the morning, and you can go through them. I have to go and talk to a couple of people about the case anyway. Just settle in and put your stuff away." With another small bow, he strolled round the corner of the row of cubicles and out of sight.

Tonks sat down and looked around at her new cubicle. It was made of polished oak, with an adequate amount of working surface, a row of pigeonholes, and a few drawers under the desk section. It seemed a bit bare next to Smethwyck's (which was covered with wizarding photographs, presumably of his family) but she had plenty of time to fix that. She grinned; what she'd achieved was finally starting to sink in.

_Auror Tonks_, she thought happily. _You made it, girl. You finally made it_.

-------------------------

**Notes:** The middle name I gave Tonks isn't important for this plot, but was a small tip of the hat to **After the Rain**'s excellent stories, as her fans may have spotted – in this context especially _The Purloined Prophetess_. Since Tonks doesn't use her middle name (if she has one) in canon, presumably it must be equally embarrassing. :)

NTLJ (for short) was originally posted at Chamber of Secrets Forums and FictionAlley. This version 2.0 has been given a general spring clean but the basic plotlines are essentially the same. The main difference is that Rufus Scrimgeour is now Tonks' boss from the start, instead of getting the job at the end (he replaces the previous OC boss – who was quite similar in character, fortunately). Cassius was previously called Scrimgeour as well, but wasn't supposed to be that closely related to a future Minister for Magic (the story was begun pre-HBP) – so his surname has now been changed to that of another suitable canon family.


	3. Little Mrs Anonymous

_Tuesday, 7th July 1994_

Tonks Apparated into the Ministry the following morning. She was pleased to find that now the first day was over and done with, her nerves had settled back to a more normal level, and this time she managed to avoid actually flattening anyone on her way to the lifts.

As she rode up to the office, she skimmed through the morning edition of the _Daily Prophet_. The front page headline screamed '_SIRIUS BLACK EVADES AURORS AGAIN!_', accompanied by yet another disquieting picture of the escapee. Underneath the paper's 'special correspondent' Rita Skeeter had written yet another of her anti-Ministry polemics. Since the _Prophet_ clearly had no information beyond yesterday's report of a sighting, it was long on rhetoric but short on facts – taking the entire Department to task for failing to catch him, despite having received information from the Muggle authorities that he'd been spotted practically under their noses in North London. Of course, Skeeter had somehow omitted to mention that Sirius Black had been long gone by the time that the information had filtered through to the Aurors, and that since he could presumably still Apparate he could have been anywhere in the country by then.

Tonks shivered. Thirteen years before, it had been almost impossible to believe that her cousin – a favourite uncle, for all practical purposes – could have behaved in the manner he had, betraying his best friends to You-Know-Who and trying to kill their baby son. The recent reports that he'd tried to kill him _again_ now the Boy Who Lived was – what, about fourteen? – felt as if an old, half-forgotten wound had suddenly reopened.

Cassius was nowhere in sight when she arrived at her cubicle, but he had left a stack of parchment on her desk with a short note on top:

_Dear Tonks (you see, I remembered!),_

_Here are the notes that I promised you. My sincere apologies for forgetting to bring them in yesterday. You should start with the Ministry's briefing on the Liquor of Jacmel, and then read my memo to Scrimgeour. The other reports are background material for your general information; although you should probably read through them at some point, there is no necessity for more than a cursory inspection at present._

_Good luck._

_Yours faithfully, _

_Cassius._

Tonks riffled through the sheets of parchment, most of which looked slightly tatty and had apparently been roughly produced with a Duplication Charm. She took the top sheet off the pile and began to read:

**MINISTRY OF MAGIC**

Department of Magical Law Enforcement

_Hall of Records_

LIQUOR OF JACMEL

_The 'Liquor of Jacmel' – also known as _Aqua Jacmelis_, or in the vernacular as the 'Poor Wizard's Imperius' – is a traditional potion recorded as having been brewed in and around the town of that name in Haiti for at least two hundred years. It is very seldom encountered in this country, as it is not only illegal in all civilised wizarding communities, but the precise ingredients and method of manufacture have always been kept a close secret by those Haitian Dark wizards and witches skilled in its production. _

_A Scarpinian analysis has shown it to contain the venom of the puffer fish, and it appears to also require extracts of certain magical plants that are found only on the island of Hispaniola. The preparation and brewing procedures are, however, completely unknown; although experiments attempting to reproduce it have been officially sanctioned by various Ministries of Magic from time to time, none have been noticeably successful._

Tonks wasn't particularly surprised by that. At school the Potions master had repeatedly drilled it into his N.E.W.T. class that potion-making was a supremely skilled art, and that it generally took careful, detailed, and patient research to analyse a potion or to develop a new one from scratch. (She'd once landed herself in detention by remarking – in an insufficiently soft voice – that clearly no-one had ever bothered to develop a potion to clean greasy hair.)

Oddly enough, she'd once visited Port-au-Prince during her summer holiday travels, and based on that experience she could easily believe that the recipe for the potion wouldn't be known to outsiders. Even in the relatively cosmopolitan Haitian capital the local wizarding community had been a close-mouthed lot, barely willing to give you the time of day, let alone their secret recipes.

_As the common name suggests, the effects of the potion are very similar to those of the Imperius Curse. However, while casting an Imperius Curse successfully requires strength of purpose, considerable magical ability, and normally the opportunity to practice, the Liquor of Jacmel requires no skill at all to use. It is merely necessary for the user to dissolve a physical fragment taken from their own body in the base potion – a few drops of blood are considered most powerful and effective, but a nail clipping or some hairs will suffice – and persuade the victim to drink it. As the final potion is virtually colourless and has only a very slight sweetish taste, and experiments have shown that it may be diluted up to seventeen times without losing its effectiveness, this can easily be accomplished by slipping a dose into a glass or cup of some conventional beverage._

Tonks raised her eyebrows. Another thing she'd learnt from N.E.W.T. class was that physical fragment potions were often classified as Dark Magic because of their powerful effects – even Polyjuice was borderline – and this one seemed particularly Dark.

_As the potion has no effect when drunk unless it contains someone else's physical fragment, merely drinking from the same cup or bottle offers no safety against a Jacmel attack. Aurors who have to frequent establishments of a questionable nature should not fall victim, as they should always practice constant vigilance against attempts to incapacitate them. It may be advisable to avoid consuming drinks served to them in such a situation – the more advanced Transfiguration techniques can be of great assistance here._

She snorted. As advice went, this was right up there with 'Never tickle a sleeping dragon' under the heading of 'Blindingly Obvious'.

_A witch or wizard who has consumed a dose of _Aqua Jacmelis_ will start to suffer the effects within approximately fifteen minutes to half an hour. They will initially feel light-headed and disoriented, and this may easily be confused with the onset of ordinary alcoholic intoxication. In this state, however, they will be extremely suggestible to the person whose physical fragment was added to the potion, and will normally obey any instructions that this person gives to them. The effect lasts some forty-eight hours on average, depending on the victim and on the strength of the potion, and so Dark wizards who intend to keep their victim controlled for an extended period will normally order them to consume a fresh dose at regular intervals._

_Those who have taken the potion will go about their business as usual if instructed to do so, but with a generally unfocused air, and will tend to appear distracted. When the potion has worn off, their recollection of what they have done while under the influence of the potion will usually be no more than vague, dreamlike impressions at best, and not uncommonly they will be unable to remember anything at all that has occurred from the time that they first took the potion._

That all rang a faint bell. Tonks knew that her Muggle lore was a lot sketchier than it should be, but she had a hazy recollection that they had a name for it ...

_The mental state is similar to that of the Imperius Curse, and it is possible for the victim to fight it in the same way. In fact, in many cases the effects are somewhat easier to successfully overcome than an Imperius Curse, as these can be very strong, and do not wear off within a short space of time. Idiosyncratic reactions vary, however, and experiments have shown that some wizards can resist Imperio more successfully. On the other hand, Imperius Curses when identified can be lifted by a skilled Healer, while no actual antidote to the Liquor of Jacmel has yet been discovered – although the Haitian authorities report that consumption of salt or meat has been found to be of some minor assistance in helping the victim throw off the effects. If the victim is nevertheless unable to do this, they must be kept under restraint until the potion wears off._

_Victims of the potion are commonly known among local Muggles as 'zombies', and a number of fanciful legends about their nature exist, which are naturally encouraged by the Haitian herbologists who make the potion. (The concept of the 'zombie' has spread in corrupted form to general Muggle culture outside of the island, in which victims are frequently portrayed as belonging to the undead – although they bear no relation to vampires or ghosts – and attempting to attack or consume the living. This view of 'zombies' is very similar to the corpses reanimated by Dark Magic that wizards know as Inferi, and it is therefore unwise to use the term without specifying precisely what is being referred to.)_

_That_ was it. _Zombies!_ Her Muggle-born father was a fan of the – movers? _No, idiot, it's movies_ – and when she was a teenager he'd often brought home little black boxes to plug into some Muggle gadget to watch them (she'd always rather liked the television set – it had been surprisingly impressive to see Muggle moving pictures). The 'horror films' _had_ been scary – but unlike the tales she'd heard about the things You-Know-Who's crowd had done, where the walking corpses had once been _real_ people, they hadn't caused her any nightmares.

_Extended exposure to the potion can be highly dangerous. Victims who have been under control for several months can develop serious mental illnesses, including an inability to recognise those they know, loss of coherent speech, and extreme general lassitude. In some cases the effects can be fatal._

_Liquor of Jacmel is defined as a Class A Non-Tradeable Good under British wizarding law (Regulation of Dangerous Substances Act 1932). The maximum sentences laid down by the Wizengamot are twelve months imprisonment for possession, ten years for sale, and life for use. (It is considered notionally equivalent to the use of an Unforgivable Curse, although the penalties above are not mandatory, and sentences in previous cases have largely depended on what the victim of the potion has been forced to do.) A sentence of twenty years imprisonment for manufacture is also on the books, but no-one has ever been prosecuted on this charge for obvious reasons._

_No kidding_, thought Tonks with a whistle. _And Cassius wants me to go looking for this stuff? Not exactly starting me off small, are they?_ She wasn't complaining; she could, after all, have been assigned to something a _lot_ less interesting as a first case.

_It is seldom available on the general wizarding black market in European countries, although a small-scale but continuous trade exists to the United States. The Haitian Département de Magie reports that the wizards who brew the potion tend to be suspicious of outsiders, and exports are seldom arranged unless they have developed a good personal relationship with the buyer. Where found, street prices tend to be high, averaging 20 Galleons a dose. _

_ ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- _

_ Prepared by: Department of International Magical Co-operation_

_cc: Auror Office, International Magical Office of Law _

_Last updated by Cassius Smethwyck (Auror Office), 24th February 1973_

Tonks raised her eyebrows at the footnote. Clearly Cassius wasn't joking when he'd implied he was the Departmental expert. She put down the briefing document and extracted the report Cassius had mentioned in his note. Apparently the Department's crib sheet was in need of revision:

_As requested, I have investigated the possible use of _Aqua Jacmelis_ in several crimes reported recently. I have now identified five cases in which I feel that there is a strong possibility that it was employed. A common feature of these reports is that the victims have no recollection of what they were doing over a two-day period, but were definitely not under an Imperius Curse when interviewed. _

_I have examined all the potential witnesses that I could find, but none can remember an opportunity when such a curse could have been cast on or lifted from the victims without being seen – in four of the cases, there seems to have been no-one else present when the mental fog lifted. In any event, there are relatively few wizards with the ability to use the Imperius Curse effectively, as training in its use is not generally available. In all these cases, however, the victims had recently attended a party or other social occasion at which it would have been easy to poison their cup unnoticed. Unfortunately, there appear to be no witnesses to this either._

Tonks cursed silently. Witnesses would certainly have helped, but then again – if there had been any, the case might have been wrapped up before she ever joined the Department.

_In the first identified case, some four months ago, the victim was told to remove the defensive spells protecting a rare and valuable 18th century Flemish enchanted harpsichord that had been charmed to play compositions in the styles of the leading performers of its day. This allowed it to be removed from the premises (it has yet to be recovered). _

_In three further cases within the last month the potion was apparently used to force people to empty their vaults at Gringotts, the perpetrators getting away with over five thousand Galleons in each case. _

_The remaining case is more worrying still. The victim was apparently ordered to kill someone – presumably an enemy of the user of the potion – and only narrowly failed in their attempt when an Auror who happened to be present intervened._

Tonks shivered slightly at this list of cases. Obviously, Cassius hadn't been joking when he expressed concern about her being thrown in at the deep end. From what she'd read so far, she couldn't see why the Department didn't have a whole task force on the case.

_The last of the cases above is especially significant as the man concerned – a Mr Benjamin Farley of Manchester – fell into Auror hands for investigation before there was any possibility of the criminal taking action to conceal what they had done._

_Mr Farley attacked one Mackenzie Ashford with a knife, while the latter (a successful wizarding merchant) was making his way home across Clapham Common. Fortunately, the area where Mr Ashford lives is home to a number of wizards. Auror Donnacha O'Gregan happened to be visiting a friend who lived nearby, heard the commotion, and was able to prevent Mr Farley from succeeding with his murder attempt._

_When the assigned case wizards – O'Gregan and Auror Arnold Cornworthy – noticed the general condition of Mr Farley, who seemed to have difficulty concentrating even when it was pointed out to him that the penalty for attempted murder was a long sentence in Azkaban, they called in the departmental curse breakers from Magical Analysis to examine him._

_As is clear from their report_

Tonks flicked through the sheets of parchment again when she read this, and found a long and technical-looking document she hadn't noticed before. She put it aside to read later.

_when the normal methods proved unable to lift a curse, they hypothesised the use of a potion and carried out the appropriate tests. Their conclusion is that there are at least nine chances out of ten that the active substance affecting Mr Farley was Liquor of Jacmel._

_Mr Farley recovered within the next few hours and claimed to have no recollection of what he had done. Subsequent investigations have shown that although he has a fairly extensive criminal record for trading in stolen and restricted goods, he has no discernable connection with Mr Ashford._

_Case wizards Aurors O'Gregan and Cornworthy have applied to the Wizengamot for a Veritaserum warrant, and given the unusual circumstances of the case, this has been done with the consent of Farley's legal adviser. They will inform me if any progress is made._

Tonks raised her eyebrows again at this. Although Auror candidates were trained in the use of Veritaserum, their teachers had informed them that warrants were frequently hard to get. She'd never been present at a 'live' interrogation.

_It seems clear to me that over the last few months, the availability of Liquor of Jacmel in Britain may have increased sharply. Five cases in a few months is far above the normal rate (only two other uses have been reported since 1981, and in both these cases the guilty parties were American criminals here on 'business'). Although I have as yet been unable to track down anyone involved in the trade, inquiries among the Department's informants reveal that there are some rumours in criminal circles to the effect that a potion of this kind may now be available. None of them admit to knowing any more about this, but all concur that there have been no hints of foreign dark wizards attempting to expand their criminal activities in this country._

_Although the number of possible uses actually recorded is still small, this is a worrying development, as the cases mentioned above could be just the tip of the iceberg. The potion is much easier to use than an Imperius Curse, and its nature makes cases difficult to prove. _

_I feel strongly that this investigation should be given a higher priority, and request additional full-time assistance. If possible, it should be someone with excellent skills in Concealment and Disguise, as it seems that 'undercover' work is the best, indeed even the only viable option that we have._

_Auror Cassius Smethwyck_

_Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

Tonks smiled at the rather Edwardian rash of underlining that had broken out in Cassius' last few paragraphs (presumably old habits died hard when he was rushing to finish a report), and picked up the remaining documents to glance through. O'Gregan had written a summary report of the events of the night in question, Magical Analysis an extended technical report, and there was even a transcript of Farley's interview claims, which said little beyond "I can't remember a thing".

She read through the papers several times, then sat back to consider her position. She'd expected to be doing something simple for the first few months – guard duty perhaps, or checking the security spells on Ministry property, at most providing backup for the Werewolf Capture Unit – but she definitely hadn't expected to dive straight in to an undercover investigation. It was clear from Cassius' final request exactly _why_ Scrimgeour had assigned her to him; it was scary, but also one hell of an opportunity to be starting her career with.

She looked around the room for Smethwyck, but he was nowhere to be seen. On a sudden inspiration she picked up her mirror phone again and called him.

"Hello, Tonks." The mirror hadn't opened out this time, and she shook the gadget a couple of times before realising with embarrassment that the voice was coming from behind her. She turned to see an amused Cassius Smethwyck looking at her from the other side of the cubicle partitions. _Of course, O'Gregan and Cornworthy work over there, he must have been discussing the warrant with them. Idiot_. "Would I be right to assume you're ready to start work then?"

"Er ... as ready as I'll ever be, I suppose."

"Excellent! I've just been talking things over with Donnacha and Arnold, they'll keep us informed of any developments at their end. This afternoon, we'll discuss things we can do while waiting for the Wizengamot to decide on the warrant. But first, I should introduce you to a vital part of Auror work that they won't have emphasised in training."

"What's that?"

"Lunch. It's your first day on the job for real, so it's my treat."

- - - - -

Lunch proved to be rather entertaining – Cassius Smethwyck had a great number of past cases to tell stories about, and Tonks, listening in fascination, couldn't wait to get started on one of her own. Unfortunately, the afternoon discussion about things they could do didn't go entirely according to the way she wished. Despite the fact that he'd asked for Tonks' kind of help, it quickly became apparent that Smethwyck wasn't at all happy about asking her to stick out her neck so soon.

"Er ... what's the problem, Cassius?" she said, feeling puzzled and slightly exasperated, as he shook his head at one of her suggestions for the third or fourth time.

"It's a big risk, Tonks," he said. "We don't usually send people into the firing line on their first week in the job. Well, we didn't in my day, anyway. Rufus Scrimgeour has his own ideas, of course, but that doesn't mean I always agree with them."

"It's not too risky an idea though, is it?" said Tonks, hopefully. "Just morph myself into somebody anonymous-looking, ask around Knockturn Alley and similar places without being too obvious about it, and hope to ask the right question of the right person."

"That's _always_ a risk," he said sternly. "You might ask the _wrong_ question of the _wrong_ person, and there are lots of little nooks and crannies along Knockturn Alley where people could hide and hex you from behind before you even know they're there. Aurors should always exercise caution when they wander along that street, we're not popular with the locals."

"Constant vigilance?" asked Tonks with a grin, remembering what had seemed to be almost a catchphrase with some of her instructors.

Smethwyck frowned at her. "Yes, actually. Old Alastor may take the principle to extremes, but you should listen to him."

"Alastor who?"

"What do you mean, _who_ … oh yes, he retired a few years ago, didn't he? Alastor Moody. The best man we had back in my day."

"_Mad-Eye_ Moody?" asked Tonks, surprised. The man was a legend and she remembered hearing tales of his exploits, although she'd never met him. Which by all accounts was probably a bit of luck, given the way he was reputed to behave these days. Smethwyck winced at the name.

"Yes. I worked with him sometimes during the war, and he was always _very_ scathing about plans that involved sending raw recruits into dangerous situations without proper backup. He has a point. You wouldn't want to get in a fight where you were outnumbered all by yourself, would you?"

"Hardly likely in broad daylight," argued Tonks. "Even in Knockturn Alley."

Smethwyck shook his head. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. I myself would prefer not to chance it without having backup nearby, just in case."

"But ..."

"No, no buts, Tonks. It's a potentially dangerous place for inexperienced people. For that matter, it can be a dangerous place for _experienced_ people, under the wrong circumstances. I want to emphasise that as much as I possibly can."

Tonks sat back slightly and looked at him, trying to decide on her next argument. "But I won't ever _get_ that experience if I don't try, will I?" she said reasonably. "I can understand you're not enthusiastic about sending a ... well, a novice alone into Villain Central. I'm a bit nervous about the idea myself, to be honest. But I've no intention of sticking my hand up in the middle of Knockturn Alley and shouting 'Hey, anyone know where I can buy Liquor of Jacmel?' I mean, give me _some_ credit."

He looked at her with obvious misgivings. "Very true, very true. But ... you _are_ new, Tonks, let's face it, and you don't have the contacts to fall back on yet. You'd be going in cold. And it can be _very_ slow and frustrating work when you're starting from scratch."

"Hey, I can handle slow and frustrating," she said, grinning. "And ... to be honest mate, it's do this sort of thing or resign, isn't it?"

He hesitated. "I must admit, I was actually hoping they'd assign me one of the wizards I've worked with previously. People who've done a lot of undercover work before and have the right kind of experience."

"Wizards?" she asked gently. To do Smethwyck credit, she got the impression that his objections were more to do with her newness on the job than her gender, although she privately suspected that he'd been taught to be protective of the womenfolk during that Edwardian upbringing of his. At any rate, he looked chagrined and slightly annoyed with himself when she said it

"Or witches. I suppose that ..."

"Yes?"

He threw up his hands in resignation. "I've just got out the habit of sending people into danger, Tonks. I had to do far too much of that during the war."

"You did? I'm sorry to hear that, Cassius, and I know it can't have been fun, but …" She waved her hands in a vague gesture to indicate that she wasn't sure what to say to that.

He hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision, and looked her straight in the eyes. "I'm sorry, Tonks. My problem, not yours, and I suppose I need to buck my ideas up now I'm back." He smiled. "I _did_ want somebody more experienced to be assigned to me, yes, but it doesn't look like Scrimgeour's ever going to grant me that anyway, so – welcome to the team. Will you accept my apology?"

Tonks grinned back at him, breathing a silent sigh of relief. "Of course, mate. And –" here she hesitated, but she knew this was going to be as good a time as any to say what she had to say "– well, I have done a _little _bit of this sort of thing before. When I went travelling in the holidays I'm afraid I just bluffed my way around the world a lot of the time. Nothing too bad, obviously," she added hastily, "but I'm glad Scrimgeour didn't ask me questions about some of the scrapes I got into."

"Oh, I see." Smethwyck looked as if he was undecided whether to be alarmed or relieved at this news, and settled on relieved. He smiled. "So, what's your plan for taking Knockturn Alley by storm, then?"

Tonks looked at him thoughtfully. "Well, I did have one idea, to sort of start us off. Tell me if it's complete rubbish and would never work in practice, but ..."

- - - - -

_Thursday, July 23rd 1994_

Tonks wandered slowly along Knockturn Alley, peering into the windows of the shops and inspecting the trays of the street vendors as she went along. Her lack of speed wasn't due to any particular fascination with the wares on view; it was mainly because she was taking great care where she put her feet. After all, it wasn't much use being able to change your outward appearance if your habit of tripping over things gave you away.

She'd been doing this every two or three days during her first couple of weeks on the job. Her chosen Metamorphosis for the task was that of a middle-aged woman, with anonymous features, and a defeated look in her eyes. It never impressed her mirror very much, but business was business.

She stopped every now and again to inquire about the prices of various potion ingredients, in the hope that someone would notice the main use of the ones she expressed an interest in, put two and two together, and come up with an answer that was more than four. She stared for a moment at a shop across the street, which had an unpleasant-looking window display of mummified dragon hatchlings. A sour-faced wizard examining them gave her a challenging glare, and she dropped her gaze and looked away timidly, as befitted the woman she was supposed to be.

The rough plan that she was following had been hatched after long discussion with Smethwyck that first afternoon. It was obvious that an indirect approach was required, since approaching people and asking if they knew anyone willing to sell her illicit mind control potions would be suspicious behaviour even in Knockturn Alley. Cassius explained that he'd already spoken guardedly to several wizards and witches on the fringes of the magical underworld who occasionally passed on information to the Aurors – but as none of them knew who the suppliers were, they had not been willing to take the risk of helping him out by providing an introduction to an undercover Auror, in case it turned out that they were treading on the toes of someone that they'd prefer not to cross.

The version of Tonks' idea they had eventually decided on was for her to act the part of a respectable but somewhat desperate witch without obvious physical advantages; reduced to attempting to concoct Love Potions to keep her husband from straying – a legally dubious use of an ethically dubious group of brews. She would, supposedly, be afraid to buy the items directly from a respectable supplier in case she was 'seen by her neighbours', and was thus seeking the necessary ingredients well away from conventional stores where her purchasing habits might be commented upon. Their hope was that if she could establish this character, and then on subsequent visits give the impression that her potions weren't working and that she was getting increasingly reckless, there was at least an outside chance that someone _might_ suggest she try something stronger.

And even if no-one took the bait – which seemed more and more likely to Tonks the longer she spent in this dingy place – well, there was always the chance that she might learn something useful if she kept her eyes and ears open. Cassius had agreed that it was always valuable background experience for a new Auror. He'd gently pointed out some of the more obvious weaknesses in her ideas, and absolutely insisted on a backup procedure in case she hit trouble. She'd promised to make use of the panic buttons if necessary, with Cassius waiting nearby in Diagon Alley. A Sense-Enhancing Potion taken beforehand improved her chances of overhearing muttered conversations, although nothing she'd heard so far was of any great value. Unfortunately, it also enhanced her sense of smell, giving her the full benefit of the many noxious odours of the Alley.

_OK_, she thought as none of the shopkeepers she met seemed to give her a second glance, _so this isn't necessarily a _great_ plan, but what the hell. It's the best we can come up with for the moment_. At least it was getting her started on the job, while they waited for the Wizengamot to make up their minds on the Farley case. Cassius had warned her not to expect early results there either. Apparently they were notorious for slow decision-making if they had no particular axe to grind, and getting Veritaserum warrants in particular was always a tortuous process.

Tonks shook herself. Standing in one place in Knockturn Alley daydreaming was _not_ a smart idea. She was already attracting a few suspicious glances from the hard-eyed wizards and witches standing on the corners where even narrower alleyways branched off. So she continued to wander, looking in at likely shops, asking the price of milkweed sap, powdered Glowthorn, or dragonfly wings, always being careful to inquire about two or three different ingredients needed for the potion, and making a few small purchases for effect when the price seemed reasonable within the rather modest budget she'd been allocated.

One of the many drawbacks of her plan, of course, was that she couldn't be too obvious. So when on this particular day somebody finally connected the dots, she was actually taken aback.

"_Ashwinder_ eggs?" asked a shop assistant with a leer. He was a youngish-looking man behind the counter of a grubby little shop halfway down the road, with an ornate but faded sign above the door reading '_J.W.Wells, Dealer in Magic and Spells. Founded 1871_'. "Whaddya want those for then, love?"

Tonks shook herself and pretended to consult a shopping list scrawled on a piece of parchment. "Oh, er, touch of the ague," she said, letting her voice tremble.

The wizard gazed at her disbelievingly, but didn't make any comment. "Well, we got them in stock," he said. "Six Galleons each, though."

"Six Galleons _each?_" squawked Tonks. She was honestly surprised; she'd never needed to buy the eggs herself, for curing ague or any other reason, but that much gold per egg seemed excessive.

"Not easy to get," said the assistant with a shrug. "Takes a long time, and you gotta be careful you don't get your house burned to cinders. Could do you a discount on five or more?"

Tonks' budget didn't stretch to actually spending serious money for the sake of her role. She let her face fall, shook her head, and turned away with a crestfallen look.

"Hang on, love." He hesitated. "Look, you can make your own, you know? Might work out cheaper if Galleons are a bit tight for you."

Tonks looked at him in surprise, and said, in a fluttery sort of voice, "Oh. It's, er, very kind of you to suggest it." _And rather suspicious, too. Can't be good for business, can it?_

The assistant seemed to realise what she was thinking, and grinned. "Hey, it's not my shop. I'm just minding it for old Wellsey while he's away sunning himself in the Caribbean, and the sod don't pay you on commission. I don't work here to get rich. Do you know how you create Ashwinders?"

"Er … not really." Actually, Tonks knew perfectly well, Professor Kettleburn having demonstrated the procedure in a memorable Care of Magical Creatures project at school. But on the whole she didn't think Little Mrs Anonymous would.

"Well, if you never tried it before, _don't_, unless you got proper instructions. The boss tried it out the back there once, nearly burnt the bloody place down and half the street with it. Stupid git didn't know how long to leave the fire burning, nipped out to the khazi and didn't notice the trail when he got back. Only just caught the eggs in time. He never done _that_ again."

Tonks instinctively started to grin mischievously, realised that it wasn't really in character in time to catch herself, and hastily turned her expression into a wan smile instead.

"That's the spirit, love. Look, I won't ask what you want them for, though I reckon I can guess. You're not the first bird who's ever come in here to ask. You might say as how it's been a speciality of this shop since Wellsey's great-granddad opened it." He leered again. "Get yourself a book about it, that's my advice."

"Oh, right." Tonks instinctively glanced up the road in the general direction of where she thought Flourish & Blotts was, then bit her lip. She hoped that this small gesture might somehow convey the impression of a woman who didn't want to be seen in public buying books from the gossip-inducing sections of the store. To her surprise, the assistant looked at her with a sort of amused sympathy. _Well, well. Maybe if the Auroring doesn't work out I've got a future as a mime_.

"Look, if you don't mind going out into Muggle London, try Islington. There's a little bookshop in among all the antique shops in Camden Passage off the main street – the woman who runs it has all sorts of old books, and most of them are pretty cheap. Found some really interesting ideas in there." He winked. "Just let her know you're not a Muggle and she'll let you in the back room. Bound to find something, ain'tcha?"

"Thank you!" Tonks' thanks were genuine, as was the surprise she was feeling. She knew Islington well, but she'd never heard of a wizarding bookshop in Camden Passage or anywhere else. The wizard winked at her again, and Tonks sidled out thoughtfully as he turned to deal with another customer..

She made it back to the end of Knockturn Alley without further incident. Once out onto the main street, she blended into the lunchtime crowds, and was able to slip into the ladies loos at the Leaky Cauldron without anybody paying her the slightest attention. She Transfigured her clothes into a slightly different style, then emerged with her normal face and figure and electric blue hair.

Cassius Smethwyck was waiting at a table outside Florian Fortescue's, largely concealed under a heavy travelling cloak – Fortescue's shop had proved as good a place as any to meet on these occasions, given the importance of lunch in the practice of law enforcement, a principle with which Tonks found herself entirely in agreement. There were a couple of empty ice-cream sundae glasses in front of him already. Tonks sympathised; it must have been sheer hell in that cloak in the summer heat.

"Well, young lady, did you find anything today?" he asked quietly with his usual polite smile.

"Not sure," replied Tonks, equally quietly. "I didn't see anything particularly illegal. I mean, obviously there were people selling stuff like Tentacula seeds and Disrobing Glasses, and there were the usual batch of poisons, but that's not exactly a crime wave, is it? I did get a funny tip-off from a lad in one of the stores, though."

"Oh yes?" said Smethwyck with interest. "What did he say?"

"Might not mean anything, but he said there's a place that sells old wizarding books in Islington, only a few miles away from me. It must be hidden behind an ordinary Muggle bookshop, I should think. From what he said, and the way he said it, I wouldn't be surprised if some of the stuff they sell is a bit ... well, dodgy."

Smethwyck considered this briefly. "Islington? I've never heard of one located there, but then I haven't had reason to visit the wilds of North London for a while. Er, no offence meant, Tonks."

"None taken." She didn't bother to mention that she'd actually grown up in a substantial old house in Wood Green, in one of the posher streets. Her father Ted had a good job in Gringotts, and her mother Andromeda had managed to retain some of the Black family fortune even after they threw her out; Tonks had always suspected that her great-uncle Alphard might have had something to do with it.

She nibbled at her ice-cream. "Cassius," she said thoughtfully. "No offence meant here, either, but why is it only you and me on this case?"

Smethwyck didn't answer, but merely looked at her with a quizzical expression.

"Well, it's a bit worse than just Apparating without due care and attention, isn't it?" she explained. "I mean, if this Jacmel stuff becomes common, it could cause a _boatload_ of trouble for the Ministry. Why aren't they taking it seriously?"

He sighed. "Tonks, this past year they've been so obsessed with catching Sirius Black and preparing for the World Cup, they haven't been paying proper attention to anything else. I'm sure the sole reason Scrimgeour let me look into this is because I nagged him when I heard about the Gringotts cases. And I think that was mainly to give me something to do. I fully agree with you that this potion warrants deeper investigation – I came across it once before, when I was working jointly with the Americans. Nasty stuff, caused their MIB's – sorry, that's Magical Investigation Bureau agents – a _lot_ of trouble twenty-odd years ago. But our Ministry only started to take me seriously when the curse-breaker chaps said that it had been used in the Farley case."

Tonks had winced internally at the mention of Sirius Black, but kept her mouth shut. She wasn't sure how much Cassius (or indeed her fellow-Aurors in general) had been told about her family background, and she didn't feel like mentioning it now in case some of them didn't know. She felt certain that having a mass murderer as a cousin and an Auror-torturer as an aunt wasn't going to increase her popularity with her colleagues, especially whoever it was that was actually allocated to Sirius Black case. She'd already noticed one or two of them whispering when she walked by, and that Shacklebury bloke – er, Spackman? Sticklebolt? oh, whatever – always seemed to look at her suspiciously.

Smethwyck was looking down at the table gloomily, and apparently hadn't noticed any reaction on Tonks' part. "I don't think they really believe this Jacmel potion could be a severe problem in Britain, you know. It's only that one case where it was definitely employed, after all; it's just a hypothesis in the others. A pretty convincing hypothesis, mind you – I don't know of any other potions that have those precise effects – but there you have it."

"But that's ridiculous!" said Tonks indignantly. "Surely they have to make a _bit_ more effort to stop that sort of thing before it really gets started?"

Smethwyck snorted and shook his head. "That's the trouble with the current Ministry people. They're complacent; they don't listen if you tell them there might be something dangerous on the horizon. We've become slack since the war ended, I'm afraid. Even Rufus Scrimgeour to an extent." He scowled. "If You-Know-Who himself came back, they wouldn't believe it unless he took out a full-page advertisement in the _Daily Prophet_."

Tonks shuddered slightly. "Don't say that."

Her colleague looked her in surprise. "Can you actually remember the war, then?"

"Oh yes." Smethwyck continued to stare at her, and she reluctantly elaborated. "I was only a kid, but even kids pick up on a lot of the stuff that goes on, you know. I used to listen to my mum and dad when they didn't know I could hear them. They would have these whispered discussions about what the Death Eaters said they were going to do to people they didn't like – Muggle-borns and unsatisfactory half-bloods and –" here her voice took on a bitter edge "– _blood traitors_. Well, that just about sums up me and my parents. It was pretty scary."

He looked at her apologetically. "I didn't think, Tonks, sorry. It must be your father who was Muggle-born, of course?"

Tonks' eyebrows rose. "Yes, but how can you tell?"

"Well, just from your name, really. Exercising the deductive powers for which we Aurors are famous." Noticing Tonks' eyebrows rise even further, he hastily added, "You said your mother named you from a wizarding book she read as a child, so I assumed that she must come from a wizarding family. And Tonks isn't a name I've ever heard before, and I know most of the old pure-blood families well. I come from one of them, after all."

"So does my mother. You don't object to Muggle ancestry, I hope?" she asked, with a slight challenge in her voice.

Her partner looked horrified – in fact, Tonks could have sworn that, for a fleeting moment, deep hurt had shown on his face. "No, Tonks, I don't. I never have. In fact, when I was growing up my family used to think I was very odd to have Muggle friends, but I never much cared about that. And at least most of the younger members – by which I mean anyone born after about 1930, by the way – are decent enough not to say anything, even the ones who don't really approve."

It was Tonks' turn to look apologetic. "Sorry, Cassius. No offence meant, eh?"

He smiled. "None taken."

Tonks shook herself. "Oh, well, I suppose we'd better go, so Mr Fortescue can use this space for paying customers. Come on, Cassius, I've got a report to write."

- - - - -

"Tonks?"

Tonks only vaguely heard her name being called. Cassius' comments about the war had set her mind wandering back to her early childhood. She didn't often think back that far – not because she couldn't remember it, rather because she remembered it too well, and the memories weren't pleasant ones.

"Tonks!"

With a stab of embarrassment, she recalled that at one point she'd declared that she didn't even want to go to Hogwarts when the time came – preferring to stay at home and die with her parents when the Death Eaters came for them all, rather than go away and die miles from home. Her father had hugged her and managed to talk her round, but she'd seen the looks he exchanged with her mother over her head when they didn't think she was looking, and even then she'd known that her fears were justified

"TONKS! Oy, Dora!"

Tonks started. She span around in her cubicle seat, knocking a stack of parchment to the floor. Bentley Williamson was grinning at her.

"Lost in thought there, Dora?"

Tonks scowled. "_Don't_ call me Dora!" she snapped. "Don't call me Nymphadora, for that matter," she added as an afterthought. "Just Tonks will do fine."

"Ooh, touchy, touchy. I might change my mind about asking you out for a drink now."

"_What?_ Oh sod off, Ben, I'm not in the mood for this," she said, irritated, and slightly shaken, at having her thoughts so rudely interrupted..

Williamson smirked at her. "Oh well, worth a try. Actually, I'm off to cast an eye over the Transfigured Toad. Want to take a look?"

Tonks blinked at him for a moment before remembering the name. "The pub just round the corner from Knockturn Alley? What for?"

"Because it's where that bloke Farley was when he was slipped that stuff you and Cassius are working on, remember?" said Williamson patiently. "I've got to go there and see a man about a dog, so I thought you might like to tag along to get the lie of the land."

"Oh. All right then." Tonks picked her half-finished report from the floor, threw it onto the desk and stood up. "Where is Cassius anyway?"

Williamson shrugged. "Wizengamot Administration Services, I think. Went to chase them up about that warrant. I've got a, erm, 'friend' there, so with a bit of luck she might be able to egg them along. Are you ready?"

"I suppose so. Er, Ben?" said Tonks as a thought struck her. "Are we going in as ourselves, or are we supposed to pretend we're not Aurors?" She glanced at their robes; both of them were wearing the telltale little badge that denoted their status.

"Nah, this is an official visit, so they'll know who we are as soon as I start talking. I can't usually be bothered to make myself look different. I don't like the feeling of being Transfigured much – gets a bit uncomfortable after a while – and anyway, why spoil nature's perfection?" He paused to smirk again and give Tonks time to roll her eyes. "You can if you like though, if you think you might ever want to visit incognito. I should warn you though, people tend to be pretty good at seeing through disguises down there. You'll need something better than a few Charms."

Tonks grinned at him and turned herself into a thirtyish woman with a round, plump face and shoulder-length brown hair. Williamson gaped at her; obviously, _he_ hadn't been told about her special talent. She sighed.

"I'm a Metamorphmagus, Ben, I can change my appearance at will," she said resignedly, in an _I've-said-this-so-many-times-it's-become-a-recitation_ fashion.

"Wow." Williamson seemed to be struggling to avoid showing how impressed he was, and managed to find a way to joke about it. "Hey, does that mean you could look like _anyone_? You could be Zara Gabon if you wanted?"

"The 'Black Widow'? Why would I _want_ to?"

He blinked. "Well, she's not exactly a hag, is she? You'd have to beat the blokes off with a Firewhisky bottle. Always had our suspicions about Madam Gabon, mind you, but we've never managed to pin anything on her."

"And looking like her is supposed to be a _good_ idea?"

"Safer than the real thing, anyway," he said, chortling. "Tell you what though, I bet her old men died with smiles on their faces." He looked at her appraisingly. "Hey, it'll really make me look good when we go in there if you can do me a nice leggy long-haired blonde – you know, blue eyes, big t –"

Tonks could see where this was going – it was a very familiar path – and headed him off quickly. "Stop _right_ there! Ben, I really don't want to know about your personal fetishes, OK?"

"Suit yourself." He grinned, but couldn't quite keep an intrigued look off his face. "Ready then?"

Tonks looked around at the half-finished report on her desk, then shrugged. It could wait until later – much later, with any luck. "I suppose so. Let's go."

They had to take the lift down to the Ministry foyer; most of the building was protected with security spells to prevent anyone getting in or out by the usual means. Tonks could see the point – it prevented surprise attacks, burglaries, or escapes from the holding areas – but it was irritatingly inconvenient.

They Disapparated from the foyer and appeared on the corner of Knockturn Alley, ignoring the suspicious looks of the locals, and walking round to the pub. The painted sign outside showed a wizard repeatedly turning a man into a toad; both of them paused in this activity for a moment to watch as Williamson and Tonks went in. He strode through the door without a backward glance; Tonks, hurrying to catch up, knocked over a table near the door and had to apologise to the drinkers sitting there. Fortunately, their natural annoyance at having their drinks spilt was tempered by the sight of her Auror's badge.

She found Williamson arguing with the landlord about some information he'd given him (or hadn't given him – it wasn't quite clear), and seized the opportunity to look around her.

She'd been in the Hog's Head a few times during Hogsmeade visits at school, and until now had regarded it as a low point in pub interior décor. However, she quickly decided that the Transfigured Toad made the Hog's Head look like a luxurious modern pub with shiny new fittings. The lighting was poor enough to make her suspect it had been deliberately dimmed by magic, most of the patrons looked so shifty they might just as well have worn signs saying 'Criminal Element' around their necks, and around the walls were a large number of curtained alcoves that looked absolutely ideal for conducting shady business.

A nervous-looking witch emerged from one of them, tucking something into her handbag. Her companion appeared a moment or two later, a skinny hooded wizard, with a scarf over his face that masked most of it from view – which, as with the Hog's Head as she remembered it, appeared to be a generally accepted mode of dress in this pub. He looked at Tonks suspiciously, and she followed her training, letting her gaze slide smoothly over to the other side of the pub as if she'd been in the process of turning her head when he looked at her. Her trainers had emphasised this: _If they've noticed you, you can't do anything about it anyway – short of a Memory Charm, which is rarely a practical option. Just look elsewhere, and hope they _didn't_ notice. And _don't _give away the fact that you were watching by looking back to see how they're taking it!_ She brought her attention back to Williamson, who was apparently getting nowhere with the landlord.

"Look, Finley, we could close this place down if we wanted to!" he blustered.

"Yeah?" The man behind the bar sneered. "Well, up yours, Auror. If you've got _proof_ of anything illegal going on here, then arrest somebody. Otherwise, just go back to Ministry-land and polish your wand."

"How about the Farley incident?" Williamson snarled at him in obvious frustration. "Dora, you know all about that?"

Tonks wanted to tell him off for calling her Dora, but thought better of it. She wished he hadn't chosen to drag her into this. "Illegal potion," she said, winging it. "Administered here. Can't you keep a closer eye on what your customers do?"

"No," said the landlord flatly. "I just sell drinks. What my customers do is their own business, unless they start hexing each other and damage the place. If You-Know-Who himself ever wanted to drop by for a quick Firewhisky, that'd be fine by me, as long as he behaved himself and paid his tab."

"Gah." Williamson made a disgusted noise. "We'll be watching you, Finley, don't you make any mistake about that. Come on, Dora, let's get out of here." He stalked out into the street, Tonks following to find him uttering an extravagant stream of swear words.

"Arrogant little toerag," he said, spotting Tonks. "Finley _bloody_ McAllister. He knows what goes on there, we know what goes on there, and he knows we know he knows ... oh whatever. That pub has been a meeting place for villains for about twenty years, but have we ever been able to bloody get anything on him? No way."

Tonks shivered slightly. _Well, the past just seemed to keep catching up with me today._ "Twenty years?" she said quietly. "You mean he really _did_ help out You-Know-Who's people? And we haven't put him away in _all that time?_"

Williamson shook his head. "I don't think he was ever one of their lot," he said fairly. "Just someone who was willing to turn a blind eye and let them get on with it. Our Finley was probably as relieved as anyone else when You-Know-Who got his comeuppance from that little Potter kid. I guess there were plenty of people willing to sell stuff to Death Eaters as long as they could stay out of the firing line themselves. I don't _like_ that particularly, but it's not the same thing."

Tonks looked at him thoughtfully. "_Are_ we watching him? Having someone go in there to see if they can spot anything?"

Williamson's face took on a disillusioned look. "Nah, not worth it, really. We don't have anyone we can spare, we've always had more urgent stuff to do." He looked at her. "Why, are you volunteering?"

"Might do. I mean, there are things Cassius wants us to try, and there's a dodgy-sounding shop not too far from where I live that I'm going to check out tomorrow, but that dump looks like it could stand going higher up the list. I can always drop in there after one of my little jaunts down Knockturn Alley. One condition, though."

"What's that?"

"_Don't call me Dora!_"


	4. On The Night In Question

_Friday, July 24th 1994_

Tonks gazed into the window of the little Islington bookshop with interest. It had been easy to miss, tucked away between a launderette and a shop selling second-hand televisions. There was a neatly painted sign above the door, reading:

_LORE OF YORE_

_Old and obscure books for the connoisseur_

_Proprietress Miss Trina Orevel_

The books she could see through the glass certainly seemed to fit that description. If any of them had been published within the last century, she'd eat her pointed hat. Of course, she wasn't wearing one for this sortie into Muggle Islington. She'd donned a faded old blouse and skirt and her Little Mrs Anonymous face. Her mirror hadn't actually thrown up its hands in disgust at this look, but Tonks was sure this was only because, as a mirror, it didn't have any.

She stepped through the door, which caused something to ring softly, and paused for a moment to take in her surroundings. The place was dimly lit, as this sort of bookshop always seemed to be, and had a pleasantly musty smell. There were only a couple of customers, who were browsing through racks of obscure-looking Victorian novels and biographies of minor historical characters. A thin-faced woman sitting behind a small counter watched her appraisingly.

Tonks wandered casually up to the counter, stopping to look at a couple of volumes for show. "Miss Orevel?" she asked quietly.

"Yes?"

"Do you have any – erm, more _unusual_ books in stock?" She winked.

The woman at the counter looked at her with narrowed eyes. "In what way _unusual_?"

"Well …" This was tricky. Tonks didn't know how to demonstrate the fact that she was a witch without actually doing magic; which was risky since she only had the word of a Knockturn Alley tradesman that this wasn't just a perfectly ordinary Muggle bookshop. She cast about for a suitable reference. "Er – did I see an advert from you in the _Daily Prophet_, or was that someone else?"

The woman looked puzzled for a moment, then her face cleared. "Oh I see. Yes, perhaps that would be a good idea. Come this way, please." She led Tonks down a narrow gap between two high bookshelves, out of sight of the rest of the shop, and pointed to a door at the end. "Through there. Just ring if you need me." At that, she turned and went back to the counter, leaving Tonks by herself, looking at the door in bafflement.

She tried the handle, but the door was locked. _What do I do now?_ she wondered. _Am I supposed to show I'm allowed in by using _Alohomora_? What is someone came round the corner and saw me?_ She leant against the door to think, and discovered the answer to her questions as she fell straight through it into a back room. Unable to catch herself in time, she cannoned into a book trolley, sending its contents flying, and ended up sprawling on the floor.

The only other occupant of the room, an elderly wizard examining the books in one corner, glanced at her, sniggered quietly, and went back to his reading.

Embarrassed, Tonks picked herself up, levitated the books back onto the trolley, and then looked around with surprise and considerable interest. The room was unexpectedly large – probably magically expanded, she realised – and piled high from floor to ceiling with wizarding books. No doubt the door had enchantments on it that make it impervious to Muggles, as with the entrance to Platform 9¾. It was invisible from this side; Tonks guessed that this was so customers could tell when it was safe to return to the main part of the shop.

She began to walk round, looking at the volumes on the shelves with great curiosity. The place appeared to be a repository for all the old and battered books that she would normally have expected to be found piled into rough heaps in junk shops, but here they were carefully, almost lovingly, classified. There was an entire row of Quidditch yearbooks, some dating back to the 1770s, a bookcase full of dull-looking Wizengamot minutes, and whole sections of books on long-forgotten spells and potions.

Tonks picked out a book or two at random. _Substantive Charms of the Polish Magical Renaissance_ sounded vaguely familiar (possibly Professor Binns had talked about it when she was at school, which would explain why she was vague about it) but it turned out to be printed in Latin, which was enough to discourage her from further investigation of its contents. A slim volume entitled _A Horse of a Different Colour_ proved to be exactly what the title suggested – instructions for brewing potions that would turn your steed various bright colours, should anyone ever think of a remotely sensible reason for doing so. A Victorian book called _Jolly Japes For The Jovial Jinxer_ looked like fun, but since most of the jolly japes seemed to require their targets to be wearing crinolines or driving carriages, it was understandable that it was now out of print.

She wandered idly along the shelves towards the other customer, noticing wryly in passing that there were several different editions of the accomplishments of the Adventure Club in the children's literature section, and then stiffened slightly. This corner appeared to be entirely given over to books about the Dark Arts.

She realised when she looked a little more closely that this wasn't _entirely_ fair. There were certainly many books on assorted curses, jinxes, and hexes, but a lot of them could, charitably speaking, be classified under the heading of general combat techniques. And obscure and unpleasant as some of the potions in the books sounded, they were probably technically within the law. Many students in her Auror classes on wizarding law had been surprised to discover that most magic classified as 'Dark Arts' could legally be learnt; even if actual _use_ was frowned upon and subject to heavy restrictions. Here and there, though, there were volumes any Auror would find alarming.

She removed a book called _With Flame and Flood: Curses For Use Against The Many_ which contained a number of extremely lethal-sounding wide-area spells, and added to it _What Lucretia Borgia Never Knew: A Guide To Slow Poisons_ and a very old copy of something with the title_ Hunting Muggles For Pleasure and Profit_. They weren't exactly her idea of bedtime reading, but they definitely didn't look like the sort of thing that ought to be left lying around. She briefly considered using her Auror credentials to confiscate them, but decided that would just blow her cover to no good effect.

Tonks glanced sideways at the other customer, who had selected some books on curses and a boxed set of the _Encyclopaedia of Medieval Dark Devices_. She watched him surreptitiously as he went over to a small desk and tapped a small bell with his wand. There was no ringing sound that she could hear, but a few moments later Miss Orevel drifted in via the invisible door.

"Good morning, Mr Burke," she said. "I see you've found something of interest?"

Tonks picked out a few books from the Potions section for camouflage while the other two agreed a price. She grinned to herself as she noticed a small pamphlet – just a few sheets of parchment sewn together, really – called _How To Harvest Ashwinder Eggs Without Losing Your House_, and added it to the pile for luck.

She carried the books over to a small counter as Mr Burke left. "Oh Miss Orevel, I'm interested in these, please," she said. "How much?"

Miss Orevel flicked through Tonks' choices with slightly raised eyebrows, but made no comment. Noticing this, Tonks tried to pump her a little. "I hope you don't think I'm into something, well … _nasty_," she said in a nervous voice. "It's just, er, they sounded interesting, and the others are for a little light reading, and …"

At this, the shopkeeper looked up and met Tonks' eye. "My dear girl, please don't apologise. This is a bookshop. I run it in order to disseminate knowledge. What my customers do with that knowledge is their own responsibility."

"Oh." Tonks wasn't quite sure what to make of this. That philosophy sounded uncomfortably reminiscent of the landlord of the Transfigured Toad.

"There are hundreds of years' worth of knowledge – magical and Muggle – in these books that people have just _forgotten_," continued Orevel, with a gleam in her eye. "They are just _thrown away_ by idiots who think that the latest is always the greatest. Well, not here. I like to think I can do a little bit to preserve some of this knowledge. I stock anything I can find. You won't find these books at _Flourish and Blotts_." There was unmistakeable contempt in her voice as she said the last few words.

"Oh, I do agree," said Tonks in a flustered manner, slightly nonplussed; the tone of the owner's voice had sounded surprisingly fervent. "Many people wouldn't feel as you do. You have a really _fascinating_ selection here."

"Thank you." She nodded graciously. "Now then, I see you have some nice old items here. Fifteen Galleons the set?"

Tonks tried the letting-her-face-fall ploy again. She really hadn't intended to spend a lot, and couldn't resist trying to find out if Miss Orevel's desire to disseminate knowledge was sincere enough to run to offering discounts. "Oh, maybe I should put something back," she said, dithering. "I didn't mean to spend that much."

"Well …" The bookseller hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, I suppose one or two of the books _are_ a bit tatty. I could say twelve Galleons perhaps, but I really couldn't go any lower."

"All right," said Tonks, unable to think of a good way to reduce the amount she had to pay, at least not while simultaneously keeping the most dubious books and staying in character. She dug out a handful of gold from her Muggle-style handbag and handed it over. She actually _hadn't_ planned on spending this much, but with a bit of luck, the Department might reimburse her for some of it. It gave her a slightly uneasy feeling, though; she had a vague recollection that you were supposed to get agreement for spending in advance.

Miss Orevel put the books on a large sheet of brown paper and tapped it with her wand. It wrapped itself around them, then sealed itself into a neat, anonymous-looking package. Tonks breathed a silent sigh of relief. At least the woman didn't expect her customers to walk down Upper Street carrying a stack of spellbooks in open view.

She followed her out into the main part of the shop, trying to fit what was actually a fairly large package into her small handbag, and soon realised that she really should have been looking where she was going – but unfortunately not until she was picking herself up off the floor yet _again_ after colliding with one of the regular customers. This was getting to be a very bad habit.

"Oh, sorry!" she cried. Fortunately, the man she'd bumped into didn't look hurt, and helped her up with a grin.

"Look, you've spilt all the stuff out your bag," he said with a chuckle, picking things up off the floor. Tonks grabbed at them in a mild panic. Her wand was carefully hidden inside her blouse, but there was bound to be something in there that screamed 'witch'. Sure enough, he was looking curiously at the Galleons, Sickles and Knuts Tonks was shoving back into her purse. "Are you a coin collector or something?"

"Er, no. Foreign money. Holiday. Haven't got it changed back yet," stammered Tonks, genuinely flustered this time. She started towards the door.

"Oh look, you've dropped your mobile!" he called after her. She wheeled round, but he was already holding it out to her. "Doesn't look like it's working though, I hope it didn't break."

"Um … battery's flat. Thanks." She seized it quickly and practically ran out of the shop.

Round the corner and out of sight down a little side street, she leant against the wall, closed her eyes and groaned. She didn't know what the maintenance people would have to say about an Auror who couldn't keep her equipment out of the hands of the Muggles for more than a few weeks, but she was prepared to bet that she wasn't going to enjoy listening to it.

With a sigh, she Apparated back to the Ministry foyer. She waved at Rhiannon Davies, who was escorting someone out towards the visitors entrance. She did a double-take as she recognised his clothes as a Muggle police uniform, but Davies just shook her head as if to say she didn't want to discuss it right now. They disappeared into the lift that led up the fake phone box in the alley above, and Tonks, shrugging, made her way to the other end of the hall.

She rode back up to the office, dumped the books on her desk, and went to find Smethwyck, who was talking to the tall black wizard – _Shackle_bolt_, that was it_ – she'd seen on her first day. For some reason, this wizard was once again looking at her in an appraising sort of way, but she didn't have time to inquire about this either as her partner made his excuses and followed her back to their cubicles.

"Anything of interest in that bookshop?" he asked.

Tonks told him about the shop and its stock. Smethwyck raised his eyebrows when he heard the name and description of the customer Tonks had seen in the back room.

"Burke, eh? Must be Alexander Burke, by the sound of it."

"Who's he?"

"Sleeping partner in Borgin and Burke's in Knockturn Alley. It's probably the biggest shop there – they sell quite a number of unusual and unpleasant items, a lot of them connected with the Dark Arts. Burke doesn't actually go in there much, though – he just inherited a half share. They're a canny pair; we're fairly sure they sell a lot of illegal stuff under the counter, but everything's kept well hidden. The items they _do_ have on display are nasty enough."

"What about the books he was buying?" asked Tonks hopefully.

With a slight smile, Smethwyck nodded towards the books Tonks had thrown onto the desk. "Well, they weren't any worse than your choices, so I don't suppose we can complain. People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw curses and all that." He hesitated. "As they probably told you in training, the Ministry keeps records of magical shops in Muggle areas. I looked this one up while you were out, and it's _not_ listed. She could well be nothing more than a genuine bibliophile, and the shop doesn't seem to be immediately dangerous, but I still don't like the sound of that Dark Arts section. We should put a note in the daily bulletin to keep an eye on it."

"Do you want me to do it?"

Smethwyck glanced at the desk again to where Tonks' now-defunct mirror phone was lying on top of the pile. "Leave it to me. Perhaps you'd better go and get your phone fixed." He called after her as she walked towards the exit. "Oh, by the way, I think we may finally have got a result on that Veritaserum warrant. Donnacha seemed quite optimistic when I spoke to him earlier. Try to catch him when you get back."

Tonks brightened at this news. At least that was _something_. She set off in search of Magical Maintenance in a slightly better mood.

- - - - -

"You've had this _how_ long?" said the wizard behind the front desk of Magical Maintenance.

"Couple of weeks," said Tonks resignedly.

"Tchah." He pulled a small silver device out of a drawer and clipped it onto the mirror phone, which immediately began to pulse with blue light. "Never take care of your stuff, you Aurors, do you? Always the poor idiots like us who have to clean up after you. And I do mean _poor_. They don't want to know when we ask for a decent pay rate, do they?"

Tonks let her attention wander slightly as the wizard continued to grumble about the iniquities of Ministry treatment. She tried to look interested in the posters that had been roughly charmed onto the walls, but that was hard going. She'd never been a Tornados fan.

"… you'd think we were the Ministry house-elves the way they treat us …"

Most of the other posters were lists of extremely dull regulations she was probably supposed to know. Tonks groaned as she spotted one that described a very lengthy procedure for claiming reimbursement for expenses not previously authorised. At least the one advertising the Ministry Halloween Ball looked more interesting.

"… have _you_ ever tried invisible-mending an Invisibility Cloak? Eh? Can't keep anything in one piece …"

Fortunately, the gadget gave a loud _ping_ at this point and the wizard handed back her phone. "Try to keep hold of it this time!" he called after her grumpily as she made her escape.

- - - - -

As she reached her cubicle, intent on scribbling a quick report on Lore of Yore, a wizard in emerald robes came through the main door. She was surprised when he strolled over to her cubicle.

"Hi, Donnacha. How's it going?"

The Irish Auror grinned broadly at her. "We've got it!"

"Got it?" said Tonks in slight confusion, before she remembered Cassius' parting remark. "The warrant, you mean? Great!"

O'Gregan took a roll of parchment out of his pocket and unrolled it with an air of exaggerated reverence. "Yes, indeed. One warrant of finest quality, Veritaserum for the use of, personally autographed by five members of the Wizengamot, bless their dear little quills. Remind me to thank Ben; his little friend Marcie moved it to the top of the pile for us."

"Good one, Donnie." Rhiannon Davies stuck her head round the corner of the cubicle. "When are you planning to interview him, then?"

"Monday mornin', we thought. If the poor spalpeen really is innocent, I suppose we've had him locked up long enough now."

"You'll let us know what happens right away, won't you?" asked Tonks hopefully.

O'Gregan looked at her in surprise. "Well, actually I was hoping you and Cassius would deign to grace us with your presence, Nymphadora my dear." He ignored Tonks' wince. "It'll do you good to see how it all works, so it will."

"Excellent!" The trainee Aurors had never been shown a real Veritaserum interrogation, although the lecturer had demonstrated the potion for them (and on them, with results both embarrassing and hilarious, depending on whether you or somebody else was taking it). Tonks had always wanted to see how it worked in practice.

"Lucky it came through in time, Donnie," said Davies with a sly air. "Wouldn't want it to clash with your holiday now, would we?"

"Indeed we wouldn't, Rhiannon my love. I've been waiting for this for ... well, just about all of my life actually. Ah, when we beat Peru I was on top of the world, I was. I haven't felt so happy since my good lady wife left me."

"Since she _left_ you?" Tonks laughed. "Shouldn't that be the other way round?"

O'Gregan looked at her with a pained expression. "Oh, the innocence of the young. Clearly you have never been introduced to my poor Norah, and may I say that you are a very lucky little lady for all that."

Tonks was fighting down giggles. "Was she really that bad?"

"Well, I may be biased. Personally, I think she worked for You-Know-Who, giving him lessons on how to be more evil. But she upped and left me these five years ago, and I have never cried like I did that night. I was so happy I just couldn't keep it in."

Tonks looked at Rhiannon inquiringly, hoping a woman's view might be more objective. "Well, despite the fact that Donnacha O'Gregan here has not just kissed the Blarney Stone but apparently snogged it with tongues –" this was said with a sort of affectionate exasperation "– it's fair to say that Norah is indeed a nasty piece of work. She makes Fudge's Senior Undersecretary look like a fluffy little kitten." She looked archly at O'Gregan. "The poor boy's obviously _very_ lucky with his girlfriend, who's a real sweetie."

"Ah yes, indeed she is," said the Irishman reverently. "Everyone, but everyone likes her. Well, not actually everyone, maybe. My wife, now, she never did like her much."

Tonks started to giggle, but choked it off. She'd been trying to get hold of one of the wizards responsible for the Farley case since she arrived, but either she or they had always been busy, and she didn't want to get sidetracked. "Donnacha!" she said firmly. "If you can spare a moment or two from discussing the women in your life, I don't suppose you'd care to actually tell me what's going on in your case, would you?"

"Oh, but of course, of course, why didn't say so?" O'Gregan waved his hand in an airy gesture. "Fire away."

"Right." Now that she had the chance, Tonks couldn't actually decide which question to ask first. "Er, to start with, what do we know about the victim?"

"Name of Mackenzie Ashford, successful businessman, a very big cheese indeed in the magical creature import and export trade," said O'Gregan crisply. Tonks noticed this and wondered how far he was able to drop the banter when it came to the job. "Lives near a friend of mine, in fact, which was a bit of luck for the fellow, now."

"What happened that night?" said Tonks curiously. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Davies rolling her eyes with an expression that suggested she'd already heard the tale more times than she really wanted, but O'Gregan grinned and struck a pose.

"Well, I was on my way home, nice warm night, thought I'd walk across the Common for a bit instead of Apparating. I can see Ashford ahead of me; I've seen him about, and I know he's a wizard, but that's all. Then a man steps out from behind a tree with a whacking great knife and goes for him.

"So, I yell at him to stop, of course, and Ashford hears me just in time. Managed to dodge the first blow so it didn't go through his throat, although it did make a nasty hole in him. Then Farley lashes at him a few more times before I could get a hex in. So there's me standing there trying to stop the old fellow bleeding to death with a few first aid spells, panicking a bit in case any Muggles come along and see me.

"Anyway, I call the office here for a spot of medical help, and then I take a look at Farley. Of course, at that point I am thinking he'll just be a Muggle bowsie out for a pleasant night's robbing. So I'm wondering whether I can turn this over to their law, how much I'll have to Memory Charm away, and thinking it'll not be fair to the rest of the fine people round here if I just blank it all out and let the man go.

"So I go through his pockets, and I will be damned if I don't find a wand. Well, that changes things, doesn't it now? Luckily, a couple of witches from the Mungo's crash team suddenly pop up in front of me, so while they take old Ashford to patch him up, I call up our Arnie and tell him to get down to the interrogation room fast as he can. I stick this branch in Farley's hand, turn it into a Portkey, and we're off. And you can stop that, Rhiannon Davies, if I want to tell this nice young lady all about it I will."

Davies, who had been making an exaggerated yawning gesture, carefully straightened her face. "So why don't you tell the poor girl something useful then, look you?" she said. "Like maybe who would stand to gain if he were killed?"

The Irishman shrugged. "Plenty. Our man Mackenzie has not always been too fussy about whose toes he steps on. He's got any number of trade rivals. We don't know of one who would actually kill him, but I don't suppose any of them would exactly be prostrated with grief if he fell under the Knight Bus one fine morning."

"Who would get his money if he died?" asked Tonks. "He must be pretty well off."

"Well now, if that were to happen I might, the old boy's so grateful he's practically fawning on me," said O'Gregan smugly. Both the others rolled their eyes.

"Hang on a minute," said Tonks, grabbing a quill and a memo form. "I'd better make a note of that. _Investigate Donnacha O'Gregan. Very suspicious character. No alibi for the night in question._ So, do we have any other suspects to divert our attention from you, then?"

"Indeed he is. I would not be surprised if he could pave his driveway with Galleons, except that it would make the Muggles rather suspicious. He has no children, except of course I am as a son to him now –" he paused to allow his audience to groan "– so all that lovely loot would be divided between his nephew and his two nieces."

"Do they have alibis for that do Farley was at?" asked Davies with interest. Clearly this bit was new to her too.

"Yes," said her colleague sadly. "Mickey – that's the nephew – was with his sister Abby at Celestina Warbeck's concert up in Edinburgh, and it was quite a big party they were with. The other niece, Charlotte, is in France on holiday, and their people checked on her for us. She was at a posh Muggle restaurant all night with folks who knew her."

"What first made you think it wasn't Farley himself?" said Tonks curiously. "He must have been acting really odd."

"Well that was _why_," said O'Gregan thoughtfully. "I mean, when we woke the blaggard up we couldn't get any sense out of him. You stab somebody, now, you think you'd remember what it was all about? So we passed him on to the curse-breaker fellows over in Magical Analysis, and they came back to us all excited babbling about this funny potion, and then my good friend Arnie realised it was the same one old Cassius had been banging on about for weeks."

"When _did_ he snap out of it?" asked Davies.

"A bit later on, after we got him back. The notes said something about feeding them salt and meat, so we pinched some of Benny Goldstein's salt beef sandwiches and shovelled 'em down him. Anyway, after a bit he sort of snaps to attention, now, and the way he looks at us, I bet he wishes he was wearing brown robes. Denies everything, of course – we went at him every which way but he still insists he knows nothing, and we haven't been able to crack him."

"I suppose he could be bluffing," mused Tonks. "Got someone to _give_ him the potion as a cover?"

O'Gregan looked at her pityingly. "Now that is not one of your best theories, young Nymphadora. There'd be bound to be something incriminating that'd come out under the Veritaserum, unless they'd done a very thorough job indeed with the old Memory Charms."

"True," said Tonks, crestfallen. "So when will we be starting, then?"

"Ten o'clock," he said. "Now if you ladies will excuse me, I have to pick up my ticket for the Final. Don't want that holiday to go to waste, do I now?"

"Wow – you've got a ticket for the World Cup final?" said Tonks in surprise. "I tried, but I didn't get there quick enough to buy one. Well, not for a seat I could afford, anyway."

"Ah, well. I set off to book my place just as soon as Aidan Lynch's fingers closed round the Snitch in the semi. Nice little package, prime seat, good accommodation. I wouldn't miss this for all the gold in Gringotts. Which was practically what it cost me." He shrugged. "Let us just hope that Krum kid is off form. I've seen us go out of one World Cup this summer already, and I do not want to repeat the experience."

"No?" said Tonks, puzzled.

"No indeed. Still, with even a little of the luck of the Irish, Ryan won't let them slip through his hands like Packy Bonner, now." He walked away, shaking his head.

Tonks hadn't a clue who Bonner was, and didn't much care. She watched O'Gregan enviously as he left. "I wish I could go," she said to Rhiannon Davies. "Are you?"

"Yes, but I had to get in by the trade entrance." Seeing Tonks' confusion, she explained. "I've already used up this year's holiday, unfortunately. Extremely bad planning on my part. And to be honest, the way my balance at Gringotts is looking at the moment, I couldn't have afforded the ticket – Donnie's been saving up all year just in case. So I volunteered for security duty. Would you like me to try to get your name down for it?"

"Yeah! Rhiannon, are you sure?"

"Of course. " She smiled. "They're short-staffed as it is; practically everyone in the Ministry is working on it off and on anyway. I don't suppose there'll be much crime while the Final's on, though – all the villains will be following the match on WWN. Tell you what, I'll have a word with Ludo Bagman and try to get you on the same security team as me."

Tonks gasped. "You know _Ludo Bagman_? He was one of my heroes as a kid! You couldn't get me his autograph could you?" She blushed. That sounded _far_ more embarrassingly gushing than she'd hoped.

Davies shook her head in mock sorrow. "Dear me, these poor little fangirls. I'll see what I can do – I'm sure I can persuade him. I think he fancies me, actually, not that he's going to get anywhere."

"Oh yes?" Tonks raised her eyebrows archly. "Not interested in a famous older man then?"

Her companion pretended to consider this. "Well, I think my boyfriend might object."

"Oh, fair enough. Who is he anyway?"

Davies grinned. "I hope this isn't going to be the standard of your deductive work, Tonks. It's Donnie, you nitwit. Who else did you think it was?"

- - - - -

_Monday July 27th 1994_

Tonks used the weekend to brush up on interrogation theory. She feet nervous but excited on Monday morning, thinking through everything they might want to ask Farley. Naturally, this meant she wasn't looking where she was going, and several people collided with her, including (to her deep embarrassment) the wizard in pinstripes she'd 'met' on her first day. This time he merely looked at her disdainfully, as if she were a troll with halitosis, and marched off.

Preoccupied with this, she didn't at first notice the quiet voice speaking to her as the lift started up.

"Well, Auror Tonks, how are you settling in?"

Tonks looked around in surprise to see a very familiar face. Bruno Featherstone, Head of Auror Training, had been the kind of department head who favoured a hands-on approach, and had personally taught many of her more interesting classes. The cadets had rather enjoyed his lessons as a general rule, despite it rapidly becoming clear that he didn't suffer fools gladly.

"Er ... quite well, I think, sir. Scrimgeour put me straight onto a case. We're doing an interview with Veritaserum this morning, in fact," she said brightly.

"Veritaserum, eh?" said Featherstone thoughtfully as the lift came to a halt at Level Five. "Well, well. I do hope you remember all we taught you about it." With a slight smile, he got out, leaving Tonks to remember what he'd taught. It was quite easy; it had been a memorable sort of lecture.

- - - - -

_February 1992_

Featherstone had written just one word on the blackboard that morning when they came into the lecture hall – 'Veritaserum'. The students looked at each other with interest and slight excitement.

"Settle down, people." His voice was quiet, but the trainees immediately stopped murmuring. He pointed to the blackboard with his wand. "Today we will be considering an important factor in criminal investigations. _Veritaserum_. I'm not here to tell you how to make the stuff, you can get that from the recipe books, although you will be taught how in your potions classes at some point. In any case, if you qualify as Aurors, we don't expect you to brew all your own potions." Many of the class looked relieved at this.

"Veritaserum is a Truth Potion, in case there is someone here who doesn't know – if there is, please don't reveal your ignorance, I wouldn't wish to know you're falling behind in your studies – and is, in the opinion of many people, the best thing to happen to magical law enforcement since the invention of Anti-Disapparation Jinxes. Would you agree?"

Most of the class had eventually learned not to bite when Bruno Featherstone offered up rhetorical bait like this. But this lecture was early in their training, and one of them nodded and said, "It means we can concentrate on actually catching the villains. Once we get them, we can easily get any information we need."

"Wrong, Mr Jenkins," replied Featherstone bluntly, shaking his head with mock sadness. The young man's face dropped like a stone. "On several different levels, in fact. Firstly, despite anything the _Quibbler_ and its ilk may have suggested to you, we do actually have laws regulating what Aurors can do, and you will be expected to know what they are."

He paused briefly, apparently to gather his thoughts. "Now I know some of you here have been sent for training from other wizarding administrations. We only teach – and examine – the rules of Britain here, so I'm afraid you'll have to learn the regulations that apply in your own countries in your own time." The British trainees glanced in sympathy at their foreign friends. "However, Veritaserum rules vary little, as far as I know.

"Under our Wizengamot Charter of Rights, the Ministry may only use coercive interrogation methods under special circumstances, and _never_ without a specific warrant." He gave the class an assessing look. "I would like to tell you that this is because we are civilised enough to feel that magical citizens should generally not be forced to incriminate themselves, let alone be subjected to painful and humiliating ordeals merely because they come under suspicion. These are principles which are frequently recognised even by Muggles. Unfortunately, this is not the case. Powerful methods and sweeping legal privileges invite – and usually get – abuse if they are not carefully monitored, which is something that an Auror should appreciate better than anyone."

The class shared uneasy glances. Tonks wasn't sure if they agreed with Featherstone on this. She wasn't entirely sure she did, for that matter, although she supposed he did have a point.

"There were far too many occasions in the early days after the invention of the potion in 1684 where members of the Ministry administered it to people for arbitrary reasons, especially when an unusually high level of Dark Wizard activity offered a convenient excuse. The experience of having Veritaserum administered to you is not pleasant – as you will discover later when we experiment with it – and excessive doses can cause serious side-effects." He gave them a twisted grin.

"In fact by 1811, when Minister Stump came to power – no, you don't need to know the history, Mr Jenkins, but if you pay attention it may help to set things in context – an important reason for his support was a promise to introduce restrictions on such methods. Of course, it took him several years to convince the Wizengamot to agree to such laws, but he eventually succeeded, and the rules that he introduced are still substantially in place. We law enforcers have only ourselves to blame.

"Secondly, another reason for legal caution, although one not commonly known, is that it is actually possible for subjects to resist Veritaserum." Eyebrows were raised at this. "It is admittedly difficult, and requires some of the same strength of purpose needed to defeat the Imperius Curse. It may be considered a form of Occlumency – something you will cover later in your studies, although we won't expect you to show great skill in that area as proficiency is rather hard to achieve. More useful for most subjects, the 'Deception Draught' was invented in 1764 – an antidote to Veritaserum for up to seven days. We are fortunate that it is both expensive and difficult to brew correctly."

Tonks scribbled the dates down in her notebook to give the impression of efficiency, although she was glad they weren't going to be tested on them afterwards. Magical history had never been her favourite subject. Or that of any of her classmates. Or, come to think of it, that of anyone she knew who had been educated at Hogwarts during the last half-century.

"Thirdly, and most importantly, however, there is no guarantee that even a subject completely under the influence of Veritaserum will give you correct answers. Does anyone wish to explain why this is?" He gazed around inquiringly. No-one seemed keen to stick their heads in the firing line.

_Oh well, here goes nothing_, thought Tonks. "Er – because they might not know the right answers in the first place?" she said tentatively.

Featherstone looked at her with what might have been an approving expression. "Very good, Cadet ...Tonks, isn't it? It's always nice to see _someone_ has stayed alert while I talk. It makes it all seem worthwhile.

"Yes, as she said, the most important thing to remember is that a Veritaserum subject can only tell you what they _believe_ to be true. And this means that the answers they give you must always be treated with considerable caution, unless you have other reasons to believe that they are accurate."

He tapped the board with his wand, and a list appeared on it. "There are many ways for someone to mislead you despite being under the influence of Veritaserum, some of which are innocent, some of which are decidedly not so.

"Most straightforwardly, of course, the subject may simply be ill-informed. If they sincerely believe someone has tried to curse them, they will tell you so, even if they merely got in the way of a spell aimed at someone else. The contents of memories are often subjective and strongly influenced by personal experience and background, and unless you can use magical techniques more advanced than a Truth Potion, you will find it is not always easy to distinguish what _actually_ happened from what someone _thinks_ has happened.

"Then, of course, you may be interrogating someone who is in fact insane. I remember sitting in on an interview where the Veritaserum subject explained quite calmly and matter-of-factly, with precise detail, how he had assassinated Pierre Bonaccord. Well, needless to say, if that had been true we would certainly have had to radically revise our history books. The same man also confessed to the murder of Millicent Bagnold. I did consider asking Minister Bagnold if she had noticed this, but decided to let it pass."

The class sniggered quietly, and Featherstone continued, now with a sharper tone to his voice.

"More dangerous yet to the _slapdash_ investigator are those who take precautions in advance. Fortunately, you will normally be interrogating a suspect who is under arrest, and will therefore already have confiscated their wand. This should prevent them using simple dodges such as sealing their throats against the potion or Transfiguring it before use. If you fail to take this simple step, then I'm afraid little of what I say will be of much use to you.

"However, there are other alternatives. It has long been a known practice for the more _organised_ criminal elements to arrange for memories of their crimes to be wiped from their minds with a simple _Obliviate_, if they have reason to suspect that they will be interrogated with Veritaserum or other coercive methods. The technique can be dangerous to their sanity, certainly – but then, so can a long stretch in Azkaban. Since memories tend to be strongly interconnected, usually there will be stray recollections or suspicious gaps that will show up under _careful_ questioning, but many a lazy Auror has been fooled by such methods."

This statement made the class sit up and take notice. Uneasy glances were exchanged, and Featherstone's next point proceeded to drive the idea home.

"During the last war, in fact, the Death Eaters came up with a novel variant – they used Confundus Charms on victims, or on expendable members of their own ranks who had fallen under suspicion, in order to plant actual false memories that incriminated somebody else. It is in the nature of such 'memories' to be very prominent in the mind while they last, and very difficult to distinguish from real memories, even by the victims. Since many people in the Ministry were none too fussy about who they arrested, there were several cases of entirely innocent people sent to Azkaban on the word of You-Know-Who's supporters, even when Veritaserum _was_ used on them. Not the Department's finest hour."

Several of the class were open-mouthed in surprise. Tonks wasn't one of them, but she understood why, and shuddered. The thought briefly flashed across her mind that maybe there was a chance then that ... no. There were too many witnesses to that one.

"For those Dark wizards and witches who wish to _retain_ the information in their memories without revealing it under questioning, and are not confident of their ability to resist the Potion, there is the alternative of a device called a Pensieve. I don't expect you to know much about them – they're expensive, difficult to manufacture, and can be tricky to use – although I hope that some of you will have at least _heard_ of them.

"If you are unclear on the theory underpinning the Pensieve, it will be discussed in the Advanced Obliviation classes in your third year of training. But briefly, you may be surprised to learn that with practice, it is possible to actually _extract_ thoughts and memories from a mind, rather than simply eliminate them. A Pensieve allows them to be stored, examined from an external perspective, and replaced later if need be." He paused. "Naming no names, obviously, but we in the Department feel certain that there are former Death Eaters walking around free who escaped by claiming that they were acting under the Imperius Curse, and who were able to afford and use a Pensieve to temporarily remove the evidence of their crimes."

Tonks could think of a possible name. And a face. A sneering, patrician face that looked on her as if she were something unclean, seldom encountered but loathed whenever she did.

"Which brings me to the final caveat. The reactions of those affected by the stronger forms of magic – especially Dark Magic – are also highly suspect. Imperius-cursed wizards, for example, may or may not tell you anything useful under Veritaserum. It depends on the relative strengths of the curse and the potion, and the powers of resistance of the individual wizard. There are other Dark Arts with similar effects, although they are mercifully rare." At the time, Tonks hadn't known what he meant – obscure potions weren't part of the training course, which concentrated on bringing Auror candidates up to speed on the key material.

"And even some protective spells can affect what a person is able to tell you. For example, is anyone in this class aware of the nature of the Fidelius Charm?"

Tonks raised her hand reluctantly, as did a couple of other members of the class. She suspected that the others' reluctance was that they didn't want to be asked to explain a vaguely remembered charm only ever been mentioned in passing during their education. In her case it was because she had good reason to remember it being mentioned, and she didn't want to explain the reason why.

"A few of you? Good. For you others, this charm protects a secret and makes it impossible for anyone to learn it unless a designated individual chooses to reveal it to them. No potion or spell yet devised will enable us to force the information from anyone else, even if they have been told the secret." The students who had raised hands breathed a sigh of relief.

Featherstone looked directly at the student who had answered him before. "So, Mr Jenkins, will you now agree that Veritaserum is actually fairly useless stuff?" he asked briskly.

The young man gulped and fidgeted. "Er, I guess so, sir."

"Well that's a pity, Mr Jenkins, because I really wouldn't want you to go away with that idea," said Featherstone smoothly. The rest of the class snickered under their breath. "Now despite all the problems I have outlined, Veritaserum is actually fairly _useful_ stuff. Miss Tonks, you seemed to be reasonably awake, would you like to tell us why this is?"

Tonks winced. _Terrific, you just had to let yourself in for this, didn't you?_ She didn't have much choice but to hazard some kind of answer. "I suppose because ... well, because it still gives you information you didn't have before and you can always work on that and, er, test it out?" She held her breath, and crossed her fingers out of sight under the desk.

"Not too bad an answer," said Featherstone. "I'm sure you would rather not have had to give it, but as you see, Veritaserum is not the only way of making people talk." The class laughed out loud at this and Tonks reddened slightly. Featherstone, with the slight smile back on his face, allowed them a few moments to settle down before finishing.

"That of course is the other important thing to remember about Veritaserum. You will undoubtedly get _something_ from its use, even if that something is rarely a complete solution to your case all gift-wrapped and tied with a little bow.

"The methods I've described for defeating Veritaserum all have one thing in common – they require _preparation_. If you can catch people unprepared, then yes, you probably _can_ get the information you need. You still have to ask the right questions – if you flounder around without knowing what to talk about, you are unlikely to get anywhere – but if you know enough about the case to keep your interrogation to the point, you will get valuable information.

"Now you should know that information obtained by Veritaserum is not a legal free pass in this country. Firstly, because of all the possible problems that I have described, its accuracy is subject to challenge by the accused at trial. This makes it vitally important to be able to show that your interrogation was properly conducted, and wherever possible the results should be backed up by additional evidence from other sources.

"Also, you are not supposed to use Veritaserum as an excuse for a general fishing expedition. Anything you learn from its use that cannot be plausibly related to the case at hand may not be used in court." He permitted himself another smile. "Of course, this is not an insuperable objection. Once you learn something, you have the opportunity to verify it independently, and _that_ evidence is legally acceptable. So my advice, frankly, is to ask anything you wish to ask if you think that the information may help with other investigations.

"Finally, as I have already said, even the use of Memory Charms may not be a complete defence. You need to acquire sufficiently good interviewing skills to notice when there is a pattern of missing pieces which suggest that this technique has been applied. Of course, the fact that something is clearly being concealed is an important pointer in itself.

"I hope that when the time comes for you to conduct such interrogations for real, you will all have a working knowledge of the value and the pitfalls of these methods. You'll be getting training in this later during the practical lessons, and I look forward to seeing the reports. Don't let me down."

The class filed out thoughtfully. It had indeed been a memorable lesson.

- - - - -

_Monday July 27th 1994_

Tonks found Smethwyck, O'Gregan and Cornworthy already in their cubicles when she arrived at Auror Headquarters.

"Nymphadora. Top of the mornin' and all that," said O'Gregan cheerily. Seeing Tonks' wince, Cassius Smethwyck quickly muttered to him under his breath. "Oh, sorry, Tonks then. We've got the Farley fellow on ice down in the interview room. Are you ready?"

They nodded.

"We thought the best idea would be for us to start the questioning and you and Cassius just sit there," added Cornworthy lugubriously, "so he doesn't know who you are, and starts to worry. If you want to ask anything you can chip in later."

"OK? Follow me then." O'Gregan led them down to one of the small rooms Tonks had only seen in passing since she'd joined. A youngish witch carrying a stack of parchment was waiting outside, her attempts to look prim belied by the sparkle in her eye. She was accompanied by a man in lime-green robes and a grey-haired wizard attired in neat burgundy.

O'Gregan handled the introductions. "This is Marcie Macmillan from the Wizengamot Administration Services –" he winked surreptitiously at her "– Healer Boothby, and this will I believe be Morgan Harris, who is acting as Mr Farley's legal adviser. Shall we begin?"

Tonks followed the others into the room. Its only occupant was a scruffy, nervous-looking wizard, seated in the middle of the long edge of a narrow table, on which he was drumming his fingers (apparently unconsciously). There were three chairs on the opposite side in which O'Gregan, Cornworthy and Macmillan took their seats, and chairs on either side clearly meant for Tonks and Smethwyck.

Farley's adviser took a chair which had been placed next to his client, while the Healer placed a dropper and a bottle of clear liquid on the table and stood ready. The administrative witch cleared her throat.

"You are Mr Benjamin Allen Farley of 271 North Clipperhorn Street, Manchester?"

Farley glanced at his adviser, who nodded at him. "Yes, I am."

The witch started to read from a piece of parchment, in a bored voice that suggested she'd done this far too many times to find it anything more than a dull routine.

"_Mr Farley, this warrant has been duly granted by the Wizengamot, who have ruled that you may be questioned while under the influence of Veritaserum in connection with the attempted murder of Mackenzie Ashford. The questioning may relate only to the matter at hand, but such answers may be received in evidence and taken into account in any subsequent court proceedings, subject to the right of challenge by either side._

"_The questions and answers will be recorded_ _–_" Tonks suddenly realised that Cornworthy had placed an auto-dictation quill on the table in front of him, along with a gadget she didn't immediately recognise "– _but you may at your option have a witness of your own choosing present, provided that they agree not to disclose any information revealed in the interview that could jeopardise a current investigation, the life of a Ministry law enforcement official, or that of any other person, and that the Ministry may place a short-term Memory Charm upon them to enforce this at the discretion of the case Aurors._

"_The interview will be conducted in the presence of a trained Healer, who is authorised to intervene if they feel that your life or health may be at risk. The Aurors may however use reasonable force to administer the potion if necessary._"

She looked up. "Mr Farley, do you understand these statements?"

Farley gulped. "Yes … er, ma'am?"

Marcie Macmillan winced. "Very well. I take it Mr Harris is your nominated witness, and you've both signed all the disclaimers?" Both of them nodded.

"Good. In that case, that's the formalities sorted. Healer Boothby, if you'd give Mr Farley the potion, I'll leave you in what I'm sure are the capable hands of Aurors O'Gregan and Cornworthy. Good-day to you." She gathered up her collection of parchment and walked out of the room, with a small wink to the Aurors.

The Healer drew a small amount of Veritaserum from the bottle and turned to Farley. "Put your tongue out then, Mr Farley," he said in the over-hearty voice it seemed all Healers were taught as part of their training. "This won't hurt a bit."

_That's what you think, mate_, thought Tonks as he put three drops of potion onto Farley's tongue with a cheerful "Swallow now, that's it!" She could remember only too well what it felt like from her training. There wasn't much actual physical pain – a little nausea, a slight headache afterwards – but the experience of having other people stomping through your innermost thoughts, despite you desperately trying to fight it, wasn't in the least pleasant.

Farley slumped back in his chair with an unfocused look, and O'Gregan rubbed his hands briskly. "Excellent. Now, Mr Farley, please describe what you did on the evening of the twenty-eighth for us."

Tonks had already read Farley's story several times in the interview transcripts, and listened carefully as he recounted his evening's activities in a dull monotone. Although the Veritaserum brought out a number of embarrassing details that would probably have been of great interest to Mrs Farley, the main points remained consistent.

He'd gone to the party. He'd noticed a real cutie strolling round the pub, knocking drinks back from the bottle like a trouper, and flirting with the better-looking wizards. He'd been taken aback when he realised that she was flirting with him too each time she passed by. Towards the end of the evening he'd finally succeeded in getting her undivided attention, and been amazed and delighted when he'd actually managed to pull her. They'd left the pub together. And then ... he was basically out of it until he woke up in Auror custody. He couldn't remember where he got the knife, or what he'd done with it, or where he'd been, or who he'd talked to – in short, anything at all. He could vaguely remember a scuffle and being hit with a hex, but that was all. He wasn't even familiar with the part of London where the attack had taken place.

Tonks took a sideways glance at O'Gregan and Cornworthy, both of whom asked a few secondary questions about the events on the Common and the exact words the woman had spoken in the pub, although neither seemed surprised that Farley's story had held up. Presumably they'd already come to the conclusion he was telling the truth.

Cornworthy's other gadget turned out to be an Image Projector. He placed a small bronze-coloured ring on Farley's head – it promptly adjusted itself to fit tightly around his temples – fixed a matching ring to the top of the Projector, and prompted him to think hard about the appearance of the people he'd seen at the pub that night. Tonks watched in fascination as a silvery mist formed between the two rings.

She glanced over at Cornworthy with eyebrows raised in inquiry, mouthing "_how does that work again?"_

"Bit like an automatic Pensieve," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth while Farley was sweating with concentration. "Doesn't extract nearly as much detail, but then you don't need to know what you're doing to use one." Tonks nodded.

Images slowly took shape above the Projector ring one by one. Each time Farley confirmed that one of them was an accurate representation of someone he'd seen that night, Cornworthy tapped the Projector with his wand to store the image. The person they were most interested in was, of course, the woman he'd escorted out – there had been no response to the request for her to come forward inserted in the crime section of the _Daily Prophet_, a result which had surprised none of them. Her face meant nothing to Tonks, nor to most of the others as far as she could tell, although Cassius had a distant look in his eyes that suggested a man trying to recall a hazy memory. Tonks made a mental note to ask him about it later.

The woman was indeed extremely good-looking, and fully justified Farley's description of her as a 'honey' – blonde, blue-eyed, a figure with curves in all the places convention (and Bentley Williamson) deemed appropriate. Tonks made another mental note of the elaborate and distinctive waved hairstyle. One of these days she'd have to try it out. At least it might stop her mirror complaining.

Farley eventually ran out of people to project images of, and the Aurors looked at each other thoughtfully. "Had you ever met Mackenzie Ashford before you tried to stab him?" asked Cornworthy.

"No, never, not as far as I know," said Farley, still in the flat monotone.

"Have you ever been involved in the magical creature trade?"

"Well, not properly, like. Done a few deals from time to time."

Tonks, remembering what Featherstone had said about careful questioning, surprised everyone – including herself – at this point by throwing in a question. "Have you ever spoken to anyone in the trade about Ashford?"

"Only in passing, like."

Cornworthy nodded at Tonks in approval then turned back to Farley. "Describe these occasions and the people involved, please."

Farley began to recite again. "A few years ago I 'elped out this Greek bloke – Papadopolous he called 'imself, don't think it was his real name, though – who had some funny creatures he'd smuggled in and couldn't get rid of. Sphinxes, manticores, things like that. Well, I'd met this nutter up in Yorkshire who liked that sort of thing – built his own private zoo he wasn't supposed to 'ave – so I said I'd put them in touch for a commission."

Farley's legal adviser was looking decidedly worried. O'Gregan grinned. "Right, that's interesting, Farley, but what's it got to do with Ashford? And how were you involved?"

"The bloke with the zoo said he'd just bought some cages and stuff off Ashford and he wasn't too 'appy with them. I was just the middleman. I mean, I wasn't going to go near the beasts myself, was I? Tear your 'ead off soon as look at you. Anyway, he bought everything except this bloody great mutant 'ound thing. No idea what the Greek bloke did with that. Couldn't care less after I got my ten per."

Harris coughed hastily. "May I remind you, gentlemen – and lady – that confessions on matters not directly related to the Ashford case are not valid evidence?"

"Don't worry," said O'Gregan with a snort. "You're talking to Aurors here, not plodders from the Patrol who barely know one end of their wand from the other. We don't mess about with petty cr –"

"What was the man's name?" asked Tonks hastily before O'Gregan could get going.

"Arkwright, Nathan Arkwright, 'Aven't seen him in a couple of years now."

The Aurors exchanged looks. "Let's see if you know more than you think you do," said Cornworthy. "I'm going to show you some pictures of Ashford's relatives and their known associates. Tell me if you recognise any of them." He laid out a row of wizarding photographs on the desk, but Farley only looked at them blankly.

"Don't mean nothing to me," he said.

Cornworthy shrugged. "Try these. These are Ashford's main business associates and trade rivals."

Farley still looked indifferent. "That one's got a shop near where I live. Freddy Farnham. Sells pedigree Kneazles and stuff. Don't recognise anyone else there."

Cassius Smethwyck entered the fray for the first time. "Have you heard anyone mention a potion that acts on victims much like an Imperius Curse?" They'd agreed they had to ask this question at some point. Even if Farley _had_ been part of a plot and the use of the potion a bluff, there was the off-chance that he'd admit to knowing more than he should, even if he'd been Memory Charmed to forget the plot itself.

Farley's eyes took on a look that was even more distant. "I overheard some Midlands blokes talk about something like that in that pub in the Magical Market in Birmingham. Couple of months ago maybe? They said somebody wanted it for a job."

Tonks caught Smethwyck's eye; from the look on his face, he was just as surprised as she was. "Describe these people, please, Mr Farley," he said urgently. "Do you know who they are?"

"No idea. Don't really know what they looked like, they was on the next table and they 'ad hoods over their faces. I didn't ask; it obviously wasn't like something I was supposed to overhear, was it? Must have been locals, though, you could tell by the accents."

Smethwyck shrugged, looking slightly disappointed. "What did they say about the, er, job that they wanted it for? Describe the conversation as closely as you can, please."

"They didn't say what it was exactly. They was talking about stuff they'd 'eard had been nicked. One of 'em said they knew someone – Trollbrain, they called 'im – his lot had a commission for some collector's item with protections on it. They couldn't get at it, and it was someone they wanted to get in with who was after the thing, by the sound of it –"

"'_Trollbrain'?_" interrupted O'Gregan. "Now did that sound like a nickname or just an insult?"

"Bit of both, I think. They said he got desperate enough to ask around for ideas, and someone down south told them about this funny potion from abroad."

"Did they say _where_ they got it from?" said Smethwyck.

"Nah, just that this bloke they bought stuff off from time to time told them about it, and reckoned he could get some. The one who was talking said he thought whoever got it brought in a supply for stock."

"Did you ask around to see if you could find the supplier?" asked Tonks, excited.

"Not me, no! Bloody dangerous stuff by the sound of it, you'd 'ave to be a bit desperate to use it, wouldn't you? I don't want to get involved with Dark Magic stuff, you could get the Aurors after you. You want to keep away from that lot. Stitch you up if they don't like the look of you, everyone knows that."

Harris gulped. An evil grin appeared on O'Gregan's face.

"At least he understands the way we work. Now then, Farley boy, let's talk about who your dodgy contacts are – anyone you know at the Transfigured Toad to start with, then any others."

Farley hesitated, but under the influence of the Veritaserum he reeled off a list of names. None of them meant much to Tonks, but the others nodded occasionally in recognition. She glanced at Cornworthy with eyebrows raised in inquiry; he gave a slight, chagrined shake of the head to indicate that none of the names suggested anything more than an involvement in petty crime.

The Aurors went over the events with Farley again, varying the form of the questions as they asked about his actions, and trying to catch him unawares. But the Veritaserum had apparently succeeded in forcing him to be an honest man, and his story didn't change from the one he's always told. Eventually, it became clear even to O'Gregan that they'd got about as much as they were going to get. A couple of security guards escorted Farley back to his holding cell, while the Aurors trooped back to their office in thoughtful silence.

O'Gregan threw himself down into his cubicle chair.

"_Well?_"


	5. The Value of Art

**4. The Value of Art**

_Monday July 27th 1994_

O'Gregan's question hung in the air. It was fairly obvious what he meant, but no-one wanted to be the first to voice it aloud. Eventually Tonks shrugged and said it.

"He's innocent?"

"Right. Innocent. Took a knife to somebody. Wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Well, OK, but he's got a perfect defence, hasn't he?" Tonks looked around at the more experienced Aurors. "I mean, being under _Imperio_ is enough to acquit you, isn't it, so I suppose it's the same with Liquor of Jacmel? Cassius?"

He nodded. "Yes, it is. I've checked with the legal section. I'm sorry, Donnacha, but I don't think you have any choice but to let him go after he passed the Veritaserum test. We've no reason to suppose that he's able to counter it, so you haven't really got a case that will hold water in court. Scrimgeour will need to sign off on the decision, but it seems more or less cut-and-dried."

O'Gregan looked at his partner, who looked back at him dolefully. "Sorry, Don, but they're right. He was set up. We didn't get even a hint he knew what was going on beforehand. We don't want to put him on trial and look like complete idiots in the _Prophet_, do we? And we can always pick him up again if it turns out later he _does_ know something."

Donnacha O'Gregan gave a resigned sort of scowl. "_Who_ set him up though? Why _Farley_? He's just a little gouger, no special skills. Who'd pick _him_ as their hit man?"

"He was probably picked _because_ he didn't have any connection to whoever set him up, Don," said Cornworthy. "He wasn't a Londoner, he was only here for a visit."

"Mmm ..." Smethwyck said thoughtfully. "And surely it was meant to look like an ordinary Muggle mugging, Donnacha, as if the attack was nothing to do with the fact that he was a wizard at all?"

O'Gregan rolled his eyes. "Well, yes, obviously. But so what?"

"Suppose you _hadn't_ come by at the key moment?" asked Tonks. "He'd have killed Ashford and just woken up with no recollection of what happened, right? Even if he was seen by Muggles, he could still have done magic to get away from them, and no-one would be any the wiser. Not even Farley himself!"

"Not bad, Tonks," said Cornworthy thoughtfully. "But you have to assume that whoever gave him the stuff told him what to do and where to go, and _they_ must have known there are quite a few wizards living round there. How could they be sure none of them would pass by? How could they know none of them would tip us off?"

"I'm not sure they needed to care about that either," said Smethwyck quietly. "He must have been told to pick a moment when no-one was near. How many wizards would have the skills to stop him from long range, even if they dared to use magic to interfere in what would have looked like a purely Muggle affair? If he'd once escaped, I don't think it would even have mattered if we found him later. Once the Liquor had worn off, how would he ever have proved it? It looks like we have a good planner at work here. It took a _lot_ of things to go wrong before we could get an idea about how it was done."

"Exactly!" said Tonks, pleased. "Lucky for _Farley_ an Auror was there, as well as for Ashford. Any other way, Farley might be in trouble but there'd be no suspicion attached to whoever gave him the stuff, would there?"

"But we'd still have to check out his story, Tonks," pointed out O'Gregan. "And if it was this bit of totty who slipped him the stuff, he gave us a _picture_ of her. I mean, she stands out a bit – in more ways than one."

"She doesn't seem to have been talking to him any more than to anyone else until she actually picked him up, though?" pressed Tonks. "He wouldn't have been able to prove anything. It must have been late on, when most of the people at the party were probably smashed – and the patrons of that pub aren't known for being talkative when we're around anyway, are they?"

"Well no, no-one else has come forward to identify her," said Cornworthy. "Even assuming it's her real face."

"Polyjuice, you mean?" suggested Tonks. "After all, anyone who could get a bottle of this Jacmel stuff could probably get some of that at the same time."

"I doubt they'd want to buy it from the same seller, even if they had some. It would leave too strong a back trail," Smethwyck pointed out. "In my long experience, Polyjuice has by no means ever been as commonly used as you might think." O'Gregan snorted and Smethwyck shot him a pained look. "It's not easy to brew unless you're a dab hand with a cauldron – which many of us aren't – and that's assuming that the ingredients are available. Powdered bicorn hair, for example – that's hard to find, and expensive when you do. And come to think of it, unless they've revised the textbooks since I was at school – yes, Donnacha, I know that leaves a great deal of scope – they don't give complete instructions. You used to have to dig up a copy of _Moste Potente Potions_, and that's a fairly obscure volume it itself these days."

"More than that, it's not like Jacmel where you've only got to add a bit of _yourself_ to it," added O'Gregan impatiently. "You'd need to know someone who had exactly the look you wanted, and then get _body samples_ from them. You can't just go up to someone and cut off a chunk of their hair, can you now? And it's vile stuff, smells foul, _and _every time you take it, it's agony. Twists your insides, and you've got to make sure you can do it every hour and not forget. Hard to conceal what you're up to unless people are _used_ to you being eccentric. Maybe it's just me, but I've never thought it was all it was cracked up to be."

"Transfiguration, then?" said Cornworthy hastily in a placating voice. "That's not as painful, and it lasts fairly well. And you could pick any face you wanted. She did look a bit too good to be true," he added wistfully.

"Most people aren't very good at it, though, are they?" said Tonks. She scowled slightly as her colleagues laughed, and O'Gregan muttered "_resident expert_" under his breath. "Oh, sod off, Don, I mean it. It's _not_ easy to do well, especially if it needs to look just right. It would take _me_ practice to get that look. And I don't care if it sounds like bragging, I _am_ better at changing appearance than practically anyone else ..."

"Actually," Smethwyck interrupted, "I've a feeling she looked familiar." O'Gregan snickered, and Smethwyck shot him a mildly annoyed look. "No, I really mean it. I've been trying to think back. I seem to remember seeing her at a big occasion of some kind, about three or four years ago while ... while my wife was still alive," he finished flatly. "As you gentlemen obviously noticed, she's a girl of striking appearance. I'll have to try to recall where it was."

O'Gregan and Cornworthy didn't seem especially impressed, but as everyone had by now run out of constructive suggestions, they wandered back to their cubicles to write up their report.

Smethwyck smiled at Tonks. "Well, that didn't go too badly, did it?" He glanced at his notes. "I suppose we'd better check on that chap Nathan Arkwright before that slips our mind as well. Come on – I'll show you how to use the WEB Access."

- - - - -

Tonks followed him over to a large alcove in one corner of the room. A roughly printed sign hung above it:

_WIZARDING EASY BOOK ACCESS_

_Please see the instructions provided, _

_or consult the staff of the Hall of Records _

_if you encounter any problems._

The instructions, such as they were, appeared to consist of nothing more than some roughly duplicated sheets of parchment. The Wizarding Easy Book Access itself was a huge life-size painting of a library that stretched across the back of the alcove. The artist had included a blank scroll to the left of the picture.

"So this is the WEB thing?" said Tonks with interest. "It's quite new, isn't it? I've never had a chance to play around with it before."

"Well, that makes me feel better," said Smethwyck. In response to Tonks' raised eyebrows, he added: "It took me quite a while to get the hang of this, you know, when I came back. I was used to going down to the Hall to look things up for myself. At least you won't be making me feel past it."

"You're in your prime, mate," said Tonks, grinning. "So, are you going to pass on the wisdom of the ages to your humble student, then?"

"I can try," he said, smiling in return. "Now, this thing lets you search the contents of the Hall of Records without actually having to be there, or even needing to know exactly what you're looking for. And it's not hard to use; even an old codger like me can manage it." He tapped his wand on the frame of the painting, and a wizard in the robes of the Hall of Records walked into the picture from behind one of the shelves.

"Good morning, sir, and madam," he said politely, making a slight bow towards them. "My name is Jakob Gogol, and I'll be your searchwizard for this visit. How may I be of assistance?"

Tonks glanced at Smethwyck inquiringly. "We need any recent documents you can find – within the last ten years, say – containing information on one Nathan Arkwright of Yorkshire," he told the wizard in the painting. "Prioritise anything in connection with magical creatures or a man called Mackenzie Ashford. Please check everything publicly available and include the DMLE confidential records as well, and we'd like the most recent first."

"Certainly, sir," said Gogol, and disappeared among the bookshelves. Smethwyck sat down in one of the chairs next to the painting and motioned for Tonks to join him. Gogol was still out of sight.

"How long will he be?" asked Tonks. "He hasn't _really_ gone off to search the whole Hall, has he?"

"I think so. Apparently, the way it works is that they put some sort of indexing charm on the contents, and it lets these portraits of former Hall of Records staff search them very quickly indeed. You have to add things to the index one at a time beforehand, of course, so it took them a while to set it up, and it takes longer if you want something obscure ..."

He was interrupted by the return of the searchwizard, carrying a large pile of painted books and papers, which he deposited on a table in the foreground of the picture. The scroll at the left of the picture immediately filled with a list of the reading matter he'd brought back

Smethwyck inspected the list, and raised his eyebrows. He tapped with his wand on the first entry, and the scroll cleared to show a reproduction of a page of the _Daily Prophet_ from about six months before. At the bottom of the page was a small article stating that Nathan Arkwright, 52, from near Bedale in Yorkshire, had been severely injured by a young Hebridean Black that he had been attempting to raise from an egg. Tonks winced as she read the details. The poor sod had been lucky not to be burnt to a crisp.

"That might have dampened his enthusiasm for funny creatures a bit then," she said dryly.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" said Smethwyck with a grin. "Hang on a moment, if the _Prophet_ knew about it, there has to be something in our records." He scanned the list again and tapped an entry about a quarter of the way down, a case report on the unfortunate Mr Arkwright. Tonks peeked over his shoulder to read the summary at the top, which stated that Arkwright had been arrested immediately upon his release from St Mungo's, and brought to trial on several dozen charges of keeping dangerous magical beasts without a licence. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had inspected his zoo, paled at the inadequate safety provisions, and confiscated the creatures (which was probably a bit of luck for his neighbours). They had also imposed a very large fine.

Tonks whistled. "I didn't know there _were_ that many Galleons."

"I always thought there must be, but I never knew where they were kept before."

"I wonder if he dealt with Ashford? Must have at some point, surely." She tapped away at the list, pleased to see that she was getting the hang of it. "No, nothing that I can see. Mr Gogol?" The searchwizard poked his head round a corner. "Was there anything at all mentioning those two names together?"

"I'm afraid not, madam. Not in this set of documents. We wouldn't keep sales records though. If you would like to submit the appropriate interdepartmental request forms, I could check the confidential records of other departments?"

"Never mind," said Smethwyck. "Donnacha took a copy of Ashford's ledgers – remind me to ask him about it. I'll make them a copy of these." He examined the instructions for a moment, then pointed his wand at the articles they'd looked at, muttering "_Scriptorum corporalis_." The painted versions glowed pale green for a moment, then copies materialised on the desk in front of him.

"Right, Tonks," he said. "Do you think you'll be able to get the hang of this now?"

"I hope so."

"Good." His face took on a wry grin. "In that case, _you_ can sit here and look up those other names, while I go and talk to Donnacha and Arnold." He bowed ironically and left. Tonks didn't mind at all. She'd been looking forward to a chance to play around on this thing.

She consulted her notes and checked for mentions of the names 'Papadopolous' and 'Freddy Farnham', and the nickname 'Trollbrain'. Although she'd harboured a faint hope of finding something useful, it was disappointed. Several Greek wizards called Papadopolous had merited mention in the files, but none of them seemed to have anything in particular to do with magical creatures. Farnham had won numerous prizes at shows for his Kneazles, but had otherwise failed to trouble the record-keepers. And 'Trollbrain' seemed to be a fairly common insult among the criminal fraternity, appearing in various case records.

The Finchley woman she'd met on her first day turned out to be the casewitch dealing with the enchanted harpsichord theft, so Tonks fished a piece of pale violet paper from the rack next to the painting and wrote her a short memo on the subject, asking them to keep her and Smethwyck informed of any developments. With any luck, the nickname, if that was what it was, might ring a bell.

She folded it up and launched it in her general direction; confident that the charm on the paper would carry it across to the right cubicle. She was sufficiently lost in thought that it didn't register that someone was calling her name until the second or third time she heard it. She turned to see who it was.

"Miss Tonks?" It was the bald black wizard, Shacklebolt, looking at her as sternly as ever. She felt a flash of annoyance. What _was_ his problem?

"Yes?" she said, slightly aggressively.

"Do you have any urgent business on hand?"

Tonks looked at her notes. Unfortunately, she'd more or less finished. "Not really. Why?"

"I think it's time for us to have a little talk about your cousin, Sirius Black."

Tonks stared at Shacklebolt in confusion, and with a touch of trepidation. Uncle Sirius was not a topic she was keen to discuss. "Well, OK, if you want to, but what for? Why _you_, for that matter?"

"Why me? Because I've got the job of trying to find him," said Shacklebolt in his calm voice. "And what for? Because he's still on the loose, and seems to have gone to ground again after the last sighting. And you're his cousin, and I have to check out _all_ suspicious possibilities."

"Suspicious possibilities?" said Tonks, not liking the sound of this at all. "_What_ suspicious possibilities? I haven't had any connection with him for a ... a decade and a half, almost! The last credible report I heard, he was up in Scotland!"

Shacklebolt gazed at her sceptically. "Don't you read the daily intelligence bulletins? You know, the ones that say things like 'Sirius Black reported seen in London'?"

Tonks cast her mind back with a slightly guilty feeling. There _had_ been a series of memos circulating, but most of the time she'd been too busy with other things to read them thoroughly, and ... "OK, fair point. I only glanced at them. Sorry. I got the impression they were just for background information. I'll keep a closer watch on them in future."

"Perhaps you don't even read the _Daily Prophet_? Or see the Muggle news? It was a big story there too."

"Well, I saw Rita Skeeter's rant, yes ... but honestly, he's been sighted everywhere from Tyneside to Truro over the last year. Do you mean that London report was actually right for once?" She shivered. The thought of her cousin being nearby wasn't a pleasant one.

"Oh, I think so. Two Muggles coming back from the pub on a Sunday night spotted him, and they called the telephone hotline." Tonks noticed that Shacklebolt's slow, careful enunciation tended to give emphasis to what he was saying, and kept him in control of the conversation. She wondered briefly if it was his natural way of speaking, or just something he'd practised when he became an Auror. "They recognised him from the posters – that wasn't difficult, there was an old one on a tree right next to them – and he threatened them and ran away onto some waste ground."

"Are they sure?"

"Oh yes. They gave us a very clear description. They were extremely lucky, because he didn't have a wand, apparently. I daresay if he had, we'd just have found their bodies."

"What would he be doing down _here_, though? From what I heard, he was up near Hogwarts trying to ... finish the job he started." Tonks shuddered. _I have never ever been able to understand that_. T_rying to kill his own _godson_? After the way he talked about him?_

Shacklebolt looked at her. "Well, that's an interesting question. You do realise that Hogwarts is closed for the summer now? And his ... uh, target lives in the south of England?"

Tonks felt her jaw drop. "Oh hell. You mean he was just passing through London on his way there?" She stopped for a moment to consider the problem. "You're sure he hasn't just gone to ground here? That old home of theirs must have been empty for years, and it must be impossible for anyone else to get in."

"It still is empty. We put tracer spells on the area as soon as he escaped, Tonks. He hasn't been anywhere within a mile of the place."

"Old friends maybe? Does he have a hideout somewhere?"

"Another interesting question. Do you know which part of London it was where they spotted him?"

She shrugged. "Haven't a clue. I'm afraid I didn't read the whole story. Sorry."

"Wood Green." He continued to watch her carefully. Tonks shuddered again.

"Wood Green! That's too close for comfort … hang on, where ..." She trailed off.

"The next street to your parents' house, in fact. Not very far from your own flat either, is it? His one-time favourite cousin and her daughter, the only family members he was supposed to be at all close to? I think you'll see what I mean when I talk about suspicious possibilities."

Tonks exploded. "So what?! Like I said, I haven't seen him for _years!_ If I did, I'd curse him into a million pieces!"

"Would you? That's what I'd like to know, Tonks." Shacklebolt's voice remained steady, but unfortunately that in itself made it seem threatening. "If he came around asking for your help, if he begged, if he threatened, would you really turn him away? He hasn't visited either of your addresses since then, but he must be hiding _somewhere_."

"Well he's not at my place, and I'm sure he wouldn't be at my parents ..." She stopped. "Hang on, how do you _know_ he hasn't visited?"

"We placed tracers on both of your homes, of course," said Shacklebolt, still calmly; a lot more calmly than Tonks felt.

"You had no ri ..." Tonks trailed off again, swallowed, and took a deep breath. "OK, I suppose you technically have the right."

"Yes. We'd have been alerted if he crossed the boundary of the premises. Unless he was _already_ there, of course, or unless an accomplice had Transfigured him into some form the tracers wouldn't recognise …."

"_What?_ Why in the name of _Merlin_ do you think I might be the sort of person who hides fugitive mass murderers, even if they are related to me? I'm an Auror!"

"Because you're a Black, Tonks."

"What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?" Her voice was gradually getting louder, and some of the occupants of the nearby cubicles were glancing over at them curiously.

Shacklebolt shrugged. "You're a Black. It's not your name, but nevertheless, that's your blood. And in this department it's not the recommendation it might be elsewhere, especially for those who remember the war. They've stirred up far too much trouble, even when they stayed on the right side of the law. And when you get one who seems to be a decent Black at first, like your cousin, they often seem to revert to type. I have to consider the possibility, or I wouldn't be doing my job."

Tonks felt her mouth open and close a few times, completely at a loss how to respond to Shacklebolt's little diatribe. It had been bad enough facing this sort of thing during the interview process, but she couldn't believe that after all this time mistrust had followed her onto the actual _job_.

Shacklebolt had been watching her carefully. "You asked," he said simply. "I'm afraid I find it hard to trust Blacks, especially when we get suspicious happenings like this. You must have realised."

Tonks found her voice. "If you think I'd help ... my _cousin_ –" she spat out the last word as if it were an obscenity "– do you really think I'd have become an _Auror_, of all things?"

"Why not? It's a glamorous career, after all. And even Aurors have been known to keep things secret from the Ministry, if they think they have good enough reasons." His expression suggested that he wasn't particularly enamoured of this concept.

"Not in this case." Shacklebolt's raised eyebrows annoyed her enough to add, "You don't realise just how badly he betrayed us, do you? My mother thought he was a decent member of her family who didn't give a toss about all that Nature's Nobility crap. I thought he was a _hero_. And then ... then it turned out he'd been playing us for fools, he was just the same as the rest of them, the same kind of _filth_ who'd sell out his best friends for the sake of his precious pure blood!" She realised dimly that she was shouting, that Shacklebolt had touched a raw nerve, but she couldn't stop herself. "I was in shock for a _week_ when I heard! The only consolation I had was that it all went pear-shaped for him and his darling Dark Lord! Served the bastards right!"

Shacklebolt watched her with a thoughtful expression. He wasn't the only one; Tonks realised with unease that the room had gone surprisingly quiet, and she had a nasty suspicion that most of the Aurors within earshot were hanging on their words. "I see," he said softly. "Now suppose he knocks on your door one evening and tells you some tale of woe – that he was tortured into doing it; or acting under the Imperius curse; or framed by a Death Eater. What will you do then, Tonks? When he begs for help? When he appeals to the part of you that probably desperately wants to believe he's not a monster?"

"He won't." Tonks was speaking softly as well now, albeit coldly. Kingsley Shacklebolt's way of talking did at least help to calm things down if you let him run on for a while.

"Are you _sure_?"

"Yes, because he'd never get the words out. I'd kill him before he had the chance." The last sentence hung in the air for a few moments; Tonks had the impression that the occupants of the nearby cubicles were trying very hard not to do anything which might make a noise, such as breathing. Which was why she literally jumped when someone coughed behind her.

It was Cassius Smethwyck. He was smiling gently as usual, but Tonks thought she could detect a touch of annoyance behind it.

"Can I have my partner back now, Kingsley old chap?" he asked. He said it politely enough, but this time Tonks _definitely_ recognised an underlying hint of steel. Even though it really wasn't the time for it, she couldn't suppress the mischievous thought that she'd love to see which of them would win a Remaining Calm In The Face Of Extreme Provocation contest. Shacklebolt had the style, but Smethwyck had the experience.

Shacklebolt shrugged again. "Of course, Cassius. I think she's made her position on the matter quite clear." He nodded ironically in Tonks' general direction. "Just remember, Tonks, don't, ah, try any _freelance_ work on the Sirius Black case."

"Fine," said Tonks curtly. "I won't." She trailed Smethwyck back towards their cubicles, trying not to notice the pairs of eyes that followed her and then looked hastily away whenever she glanced in their direction. Smethwyck sat down and gave her a hesitant smile.

"You know, I got the distinct impression there that you weren't too happy with your cousin."

Tonks looked at him in embarrassment. "How bad was it?"

Smethwyck mimed a thoughtful look. "Well, if he really is anywhere in London, he'll definitely have heard you threaten him. Frankly, there's a good chance he heard you if he's still in Scotland."

Tonks sighed. "It just slipped out, I didn't _really_ mean it." Honesty compelled her to add, "Well, at least I don't think so. I _hope_ I'm not the sort of person who'd kill for revenge. Not even if ... I don't know, a friend was killed in front of me. But ... I've realised over the last year that I really do hate him. Just like I hate all of them who were with You-Know-Who's merry little band. I suppose it was the escape that brought it all back."

"You were close to him once, then?" asked Smethwyck gently.

"Yeah, sort of." Tonks sprawled back in her chair with a bleak look. "He used to visit us, you know, when I was a young kid? Not often, I suppose, but I thought he was really cool, the nearest thing I had to a _proper_ wizard uncle. My mum always got on well with him; both of them were more or less disowned by their parents because they refused to go along with the pure-blood stuff. Once Auntie _Bellatrix_ –"she practically snarled the name "– had paired off with that Lestrange git, apparently my gran started trying to set my mum up with his brother! Keep everything in the family! She wasn't having any of it, of course. She'd met my dad at school. I thought Uncle Sirius was really proud of her ... well, I thought I knew him. Obviously I didn't."

"I see."

"I _still_ can't quite get my head round it, you know. Do you think he was a Death Eater _all_ that time?" There was a plea in her voice.

Smethwyck looked thoughtful again; this time apparently for real. "I suppose he _could_ have been turned late on in the war," he said hesitantly. "It happened that way sometimes. I remember one case of a man from a pure-blood family – Jugson, his name was – who fell for a Muggle-born woman and married her. I vaguely knew some of his family; they actually seemed quite decent people for the most part, but they did strongly disapprove of such marriages. In public he was very much against everything You-Know-Who stood for, and apparently many of his old friends gave him the cold shoulder because of it." He paused, with a distant look.

"What happened to him?"

"What happened? One day he must have ... well, just cracked, I imagine. Wanted to come in from the cold. He dropped out of sight all of a sudden, so naturally under the circumstances we suspected he might have been murdered by Death Eaters. It used to happen a lot in those days."

"I know," said Tonks quietly.

"Ah. So, anyway, we checked his house. When we did, we found his wife's body ... Let's just say it wasn't a pleasant sight."

Tonks felt her mouth fall open. "He killed her _himself_? You're sure it wasn't a Death Eater attack?"

"Apparently not. His defensive protections were still in place all over the house, it took us hours to get in." Smethwyck shook his head. "And they lived on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, it wasn't as if the neighbours wouldn't recognise people doing magic when they saw it. No-one had seen anything – well, all right, we were used to people _saying_ that, but in this case they seemed genuinely surprised."

He paused again, apparently lost for a moment in old horrors. "The next we heard, one of our people tracked down a gang of Death Eaters to a big house just outside Ipswich, and we put together a task force for a surprise assault. One of the people we found there turned out to be Jugson, and before you ask, no, he wasn't under Imperius or anything else. We lost three good Aurors and a couple of bystanders capturing him and his friends – well, the ones who survived, at least. As far as I know, they're still keeping your aunt and uncle company in Azkaban."

"Good riddance." Tonks winced when she said that, albeit only internally – the remark had come out with far more vehemence than she'd intended. Smethwyck looked at her uncertainly.

"I'm surprised you still feel so strongly, Tonks," he said slowly. "And a bit worried, truth be told. I know it's a cliché, and you were probably told this so many times during training that you're fed up with hearing it – but you genuinely _can't afford _to let personal feelings get in the way when you're doing this job. I mean, everyone who saw that Jugson chap's wife – or knew the people we lost in the battle – would have loved to take him apart slowly, piece by piece. But we didn't, we just shipped him off to Azkaban. Although that hellhole is punishment enough, I suppose."

Tonks sighed. "Come on Cassius, give me a break. I suppose ... I never realised I was so sensitive on the point till people here started calling me on it. It's been, what, thirteen years now? The war ended, and then my aunt _finally_ stepped out of line and got herself caught, and after that we never talked about it. But when Unc ... when he broke out, it brought back a lot of bad memories for us."

"'Us'?" inquired Smethwyck quietly.

"Me and my parents. You know, the 'good Blacks'." The last two words were spoken with more than a trace of embittered sarcasm.

"The sheep of the Black family, in fact." He made an admirable attempt at a straight face while saying this, but couldn't keep his mouth from twitching at the edges.

Tonks felt anger flare for a moment, but then said shamefacedly, "Yeah, I suppose so. Strange lot, aren't we? The Muggle-born, the blood traitor, the half-blood freak. We might as well have had a big target painted on our house. I'm amazed we all survived."

He grinned at her. "I think you'll do, Tonks." He hesitated, then the grin returned. "You're doing me good, you know that? It's been so many years since I was a real tyro – first time around, that is – I'd forgotten how it felt to be young and enthusiastic. Your attitude must be rubbing off; I'm actually starting to enjoy this again. I must remember to thank Rufus Scrimgeour next time I see him."

Tonks snickered. "I'm not sure he'll appreciate that." She paused. "Look, thanks for rescuing me from that sod Shacklebolt. I might have said something I'd have regretted. Well. OK, said something _more_ I'd have regretted."

"No problem. And don't be too hard on Kingsley, he's just doing his job. He's a very good chap when you get to know him and work with him."

Tonks shrugged. "Well, don't take offence, Cassius, but I _really_ hope that isn't for a while yet." She looked at the pile of work awaiting completion on her desk, and grinned at him mischievously. "Right then, if you don't mind my young person's attitude, all I've got to say is – last one to finish their report buys the drinks after work!"

- - - - -

_Tuesday July 28th 1994_

Tonks Apparated into the Ministry rather later than she'd intended the following morning. She was suffering from a hangover that even a dose of potion hadn't completely alleviated, although as compensation she had the pleasant recollection of having successfully outlasted her partner, drink for drink, while they got to know each other better. She was rather hazy about the details of their conversation, but could vaguely remember Cassius entertaining her with a series of thoroughly scurrilous tales of what Auror work had been like in the old days. _One of these days, I'll have to get him to tell me again when I'm sober, _she reflected. She glanced at the clock, winced, then brightened; at least with this job, you could keep odd hours and put it down to 'working on a case'.

Cassius wasn't anywhere to be seen in the office when she arrived, but Rhiannon Davies was there, talking to the man in the Muggle police uniform again. Tonks tried to watch them out of the corner of her eye while dutifully reading the daily intelligence bulletin. The man looked uncomfortable and somewhat overawed, but was paying close attention to whatever it was they were talking about. Davies noticed she was looking and winked.

The bulletin wasn't especially interesting. Most of the reports were brief updates on cases of which she only had the vaguest recollection. However, she was pleased to see that O'Gregan's report on the results of the Farley interrogation was included, and that Cassius had added a note on what they'd learned from the WEB. Out of curiosity she looked for Rhiannon Davies' name, but it wasn't listed on any report as far as she could see.

She glanced up to find that Cassius had just arrived, looking somewhat the worse for wear. She wondered guiltily if she'd encouraged him to overdo it the previous evening, but he managed a rather wan smile as he sat down.

"You know, Tonks," he said, in a voice that was hoarser than usual, "I haven't had a session like that since I left the Auror Office all those years ago. I can remember why now. You feel like death warmed up in the morning."

"Oops. Sorry."

"No, don't apologise. You didn't exactly force the stuff down my throat at wandpoint. I went into it with my eyes open – well, at least they were open for the first bottle or so." He winced and put a hand to his temple. "Probably overconfidence on my part. I used to be quite good at it, you know; I even outdrank my Yankee counterparts sometimes when I was over there, and _that's_ not easily done. Unfortunately, like so many things in life, if you don't do it for a while you don't realise how out of practice you are until you actually try it again. I hope I didn't embarrass myself."

"Don't think so. Don't know if I'd remember if you had though, mate."

"Ah." He paused. "Thank you for last night, Tonks."

Tonks blinked. "_Thanks?_ Are you sure?"

"Yes. You made me feel like – what's the phrase – 'one of the boys' again. I haven't really been one since I came back. I appreciate it, Tonks. Really, I do. It was worth the after-effects to be able to feel like that again."

Tonks grinned at him. "Don't mention it."

Cassius grinned back. "All right, I won't. Mind you, I don't think I'll try it again for a while. I always knew you were going to be trouble."

"Trouble's my middle name, mate. Well, OK, you know it isn't, but it should have been. I wouldn't have minded answering to that at school. It would have fit beautifully."

"Spent half your time in detention, eh? When I was at school – yes, Tonks, even I was a schoolboy once – I used to hand them out," said Cassius reminiscently. "Only because I had to, though. We prefects were meant to keep the little wretches in order. I don't think we ever _managed_ it, mind you, but we were meant to."

"I was one of the little wretches none of the prefects could keep in order," said Tonks, grinning. "The Metamorphmagus stuff really helped. Well, for a year or so anyway, until they cottoned on."

"Oh yes?"

"Yeah, if I was where I wasn't supposed to be and a prefect came along, I'd just change my appearance and give them a false name. Most of them didn't know who all the first-years were and didn't care anyway, it was easy."

She chortled as a particular set of escapades popped up from her memory. "I gave one poor Hufflepuff fifth-year a real runaround. He'd see me disappear into a room looking like myself, then pop out again the next minute as somebody else with a butter-wouldn't-melt expression. Then he'd go in the room and find it empty. He was horribly confused, poor boy. I could practically _see_ the thoughts going through his mind: _'Wait a minute – she must have changed her appearance! No, hang on, she's only a first-year. No way can she know how to do advanced Transfiguration. The other one must be hiding, or maybe there's a secret passage I don't know about. Damn!'_ It was hilarious."

Cassius sat back and chuckled. "You know, I'm very glad we didn't have anyone like you around when I was a prefect. I think I might have just handed the badge back as a bad job." He looked around guiltily. "Anyway, enough of your terrible past. And mine. I've a feeling I probably slandered my erstwhile colleagues quite outrageously last night, so it's probably best we're both a bit hazy about it. We'd better do some work, or Scrimgeour will drop by and turn us into polecats."

They spent what was left of the morning reviewing the information obtained from the previous day's investigations, sneaked out for an extended lunch break, then returned to their desks. "Did you get Ashford's sales reports from Don?" she asked as a thought struck her.

"Ah, yes, I'd forgotten about them." He rummaged among the paperwork on his desk, and threw over a selection of duplicated notes. "Here we are. They'd done business together a few times, but Arkwright wasn't a big customer. Arnold didn't even have a picture of him to show Farley. I suppose he was only looking for unusual creatures, and the bulk of Ashford's trade is in the common ones people usually want – Crups, Puffskeins, Kneazles, the occasional winged horse or Hippogriff, things like that."

"Right," said Tonks, glancing down the list. "Let's see ... Ashford sold him a school of Plimpys, whatever they are – oh, some kind of fish apparently. A Jarvey ... I remember those from Care of Magical Creatures, they're like foul-mouthed ferrets, nothing much to worry about. And ... blimey, a breeding pair of _Snidgets?_ Managed to get a licence to sell them somehow. _That_ set Arkwright back a fair few Galleons. Seems to be it though. Oh, apart from the cages and stuff."

"Cages?"

"Cages for large creatures, '_magically reinforced and fully guaranteed_', apparently. Sold in job lots of a dozen. Couldn't have been that much good if his dragon got out of them."

"Maybe he should ask for his money back," Cassius chortled. "He could probably use some after the fine they slapped on him."

Tonks looked up as a thought struck her. "Does _everything_ Ashford sell go through his books?"

Cassius looked at her sharply. "You mean, might he have sold things to Arkwright illegally? Good question. He's a fairly shrewd businessman, but we didn't find anything to suggest that he traded on the black market. Donnacha said his impression of him was that he's not the type to risk a successful legitimate company for a small illegal profit on the side, but might consider it if the amount of money involved was large enough."

"Right. Technically, Ashford and Arkwright aren't part of our case, are they? Do we do anything else with regard to looking into them?"

Cassius shrugged. "Another good question. I'll go and see what Donnacha and Arnold are planning to do. Maybe we can team up with them; there's bound to be a lot of overlap, after all. See you tomorrow, Tonks." He turned back towards her as he walked away. "Oh, and if you feel like a drink after work – ask someone younger this time!"

Tonks grinned to herself as she turned back to her desk and a couple of memos zoomed into her cubicle in-tray. _Hey, at least the boozing session made Cassius feel welcome again. Result!_

- - - - -

Five o'clock came as a welcome relief to Tonks. It had felt like a very long day. She Apparated from the foyer back to her flat, kicked her shoes into a corner, and sat back in the comfiest chair she possessed with a sigh of relief.

Naturally, the doorbell rang just as she'd settled down nicely. She closed her eyes and silently swore, then dragged herself out to the door and yanked it open with a touch of annoyance.

"Wotcher, Princess."

"Dad!" Her tiredness vanished. "Mum! Why didn't you tell me you were coming round?"

"Thought we'd surprise you," said her father with equanimity, hugging her. "Are you going to invite us in, then?"

"Oh don't be daft, Dad. You know where the lounge is, go and sit yourself down." Her mother embraced her more sedately, but with equal affection. "It's good to see you, Mum. I'm sorry I haven't been round this last couple of weeks, I've been busy ..."

"That's all right darling, we understand." Her mother smiled at her. "Just so long as you don't let it become a habit." They followed Ted Tonks into the lounge.

"How're you doing, Princess?" he said seriously. "Enjoying it? How are they treating you?"

"Fine, Dad. It's been, well –" Tonks wanted to say "a dream come true", but that sounded far too corny "– well, great really. Cassius ­– the bloke I'm teamed up with – is a really decent old soul."

"Cassius?" said her mother curiously. "Not Cassius _Smethwyck_, by any chance? I thought he retired years ago."

Tonks felt her eyebrows rise. "You know Cassius? Where from?"

"Oh, I don't really _know_ him, Nymphadora, but I do know the Smethwycks, of course. Quite nice people, very old family." She hesitated briefly but perceptibly. "We occasionally used to meet them socially when I was a child. Everybody seemed to think Cassius was a bit odd, of course, but I must admit –" she giggled mischievously, in a way her daughter had always found endearingly incongruous "– I never paid much attention to them when they dismissed people like that. I only saw him two or three times, probably, but he seemed to be a very pleasant man."

"Yeah, he is. He did retire, but he came back after his wife died."

"Ah." Andromeda Tonks looked slightly embarrassed. "Yes, I see. I'm sorry to hear that. Is he well?"

"He seems to be. We're working on quite an interesting case, but I can't really talk about that, obviously."

"Long as they're not sending you down Knockturn Alley on your own every day," said her father jocularly. He noticed her wince and quietly added, "And if they are, don't mind us, love. Yeah, we worry about you, we're your parents. We're bound to worry when you're in a dangerous job. But we've always known you wanted to do this, and it's a good thing you're doing. You're all grown up now, Princess, you've got to do what you believe is right."

Tonks looked at her mother for her reaction, who looked a little sad but nodded. "I agree, darling. I don't suppose you realised it, but we spent a lot of time talking about this when you were a teenager – you're our only child, after all, we want you to be safe. But we want the best for you too. And after all we went through in the war, it would be silly and _wrong_ for us to complain about you standing up for a good cause. It's ... we're _proud_ of you, Nymphadora, for doing this. Just be _careful_, that's all we ask."

Tonks felt her eyes moisten, and blinked a few times to clear then. "Thanks, Mum. Thanks, Dad. You don't know how much it means to me to hear you say that."

"No problem, Princess." Her father looked around, and turned to his daughter with a slightly shifty expression. "Do you mind if I have a look at your TV, kid? Just to catch the end of the news?"

His wife snorted sceptically. "You mean you want to know if your team have signed that German player yet. You never did fool me, Ted."

"Me, neither," added Tonks, grinning. "Is this the mighty Spars again?"

"Well, sorry, Annie," he said with dignity. "And, yes, it's _Spurs_. I like my sport on the ground where I don't have to crick my neck to see what's going on."

Tonks picked up her wand and called, "_Accio_ remote!" A small grey box flew into her hand from down the back of the sofa, where it had somehow found its way after the last use, and she pressed a button to switch on the evening news programme. Seeing her parents' raised eyebrows, she explained: "I never got round to charming the telly for wand control. I don't really watch it much, but I thought I'd better get one because the landlord thought it was odd that I didn't have one. Anyway, you know I was never much good at household spells."

"Yes, dear," said her mother with mild reproof, looking around at the clothes, papers, and other miscellaneous objects strewn around the flat. "You know," she said thoughtfully, "I could always tidy this up a bit for you ..."

"Er, thanks, Mum, but there's no need." Tonks hastily turned to her father, who had his attention on the screen. "Any luck on the football, dad?"

"No," said her father gloomily. "Not a peep." He watched the weather report with a critical eye. "You know, if I ever got a Muggle job, that would be a pretty cushy number. You go in a studio, do a few minutes every day, then go home. It's not like you need Seer powers or anything. You don't even have to get it right!"

"Oh, I don't know," said Tonks with a grin. "I reckon they get it right more often than my Divination teacher ever did. If by some miracle she ever made a _real_ prediction, I don't suppose she'd believe it herself."

Their conversation turned to other matters as the Crimestoppers programme came on. It was just a noise in the background to Tonks, so she was surprised when her mother stiffened at something on the television. She turned to see a batch of police mug shots on the screen, and hear the announcer's voiceover: "_... and there is still no further news of escaped murderer Sirius Black, recently spotted in Wood Green after being on the run for over a year. Neighbourhood Watch patrols should keep an eye out, but on no account approach the man if seen, as he is reported to be armed and dangerous …_"

Andromeda Tonks had gone very quiet. The Black side of her family had always been a touchy subject for her from as far back as Tonks could remember, and for the past thirteen years it had been tacitly understood by Tonks and her father that Cousin Sirius and Auntie Bella in particular were topics best avoided.

"So what do they have you doing at work, then?" asked Ted in a voice that was rather louder than necessary.

"Oh, er, tracking down dodgy potion sellers," said Tonks, slightly flustered. She stopped there; _that_ wasn't going to give away much about the case.

"Yeah?" said Ted, still attempting to ignore his wife's pursed lips and tensed body. "Not that one they're supposed to have been using on our customers, I hope?"

"_WHAT?_" cried Tonks, horrified. It took her a moment to realise that her reaction had just said more than it should have.

"It is?" said her father, with equal surprise. "Good heavens, Katie, they're not starting you off small, are they?" He ignored his wife's cluck of disapproval at the pet name. "I hope you find out who's doing it, kid. We don't want it happening too often, it's bad for business. I mean, I know the goblins make sure they write it into the conditions for opening an account that they aren't responsible for any magical problems affecting their customers, but _somebody's_ going to kick up a stink sooner or later."

"Yeah, well, that lot don't want us interfering, do they?" said Tonks with a trace of bitterness, remembering the notes on the Gringotts thefts attached to Cassius' Jacmel file. She hesitated for a moment. "How much do you know about this, Dad?"

"Some reports went across my desk, that's all. They said someone brainwashed a few of our customers into taking all their money out, and your lot told us they used a potion to do it. I don't think there's much _we_ can do. Shouldn't I know about this, then?"

Tonks hesitated, then shrugged. "Sounds like it's common knowledge at your end. We did ask them to tip us off if it happened again, but they just waved the Charter of Rights at us and said they didn't _have_ to tell us what their customers did. And apparently putting someone from the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol there to keep an eye out might be 'intimidating to their customers'. Yeah, too right with some of them, I bet."

"Yes, well, they – er, we – don't like you interfering. Even more than they dislike losing customers." Ted Tonks hesitated for a moment in turn. "Look, kid, would you like me to try and tip you off if it happens again?"

Tonks' jaw dropped at this unexpected slice of luck. "Yeah! How, though? You don't work on the front desk, do you?"

"Nooo ... but there are portraits of Gringott all over the building – the founding goblin, you know. One in front of my desk, in fact, and another big one in the main hall. I've talked to them from time to time. I think he does get annoyed sometimes by the way the present-day goblins refuse to co-operate. He _might_ agree to tell me if he spots anything odd going on. If I let you know, you'd have to keep it _really_ quiet who told you, though."

Tonks thought about it for a moment. "No problem, dad. I'll just put you down as a contact in Knockturn Alley. This could be _exactly_ what we're looking for."

"Nymphadora!" Her mother's voice was sharp, and she jumped. "Are you sure you want to encourage him? Ted, how likely is it that you could lose your job over this?"

"Well ..." said her husband, slightly shamefacedly. "I suppose if they found out they'd be really angry."

Andromeda Tonks sniffed. "Angry goblins? Wonderful."

"Don't worry, Mum," Tonks said quickly. "Only the boss would have to know who it really is, but he'll never say anything. The main thing is finding a way for you to tell me without making it obvious ... you don't have access to the Muggle phone system, do you?" She'd never tried the linkup on her mirror phone 'mobile', and wondered how well it would actually work.

"Not in Gringotts, no. Muggle stuff doesn't work in Diagon Alley, remember? Too much magic around." At an exasperated look from his wife, he hastily added "Anyway, it would need to be something quiet. If one of the goblins came by and heard me telling you, they'd go mental. I'd send you an owl, but that wouldn't be quick enough, I suppose? Some sort of button to press, maybe?"

Tonks thought for a moment. "We'd need a description though to do us any good. Hang on, does this Gringott bloke have any spare miniature portraits lying around you could, er, borrow?"

"Don't think so. Normal sized ones, yeah, plenty of them. I could probably take one of those out – they've got so many, they'd probably be happy to get rid of a few of them."

"I couldn't carry one around with me, though. Damn! Wait a minute." Tonks turned to her mother with entreaty in her eyes. "Er, Mum ... "

"Yes, Nymphadora?" she said, suspiciously.

"Would you, maybe, keep a portrait in the house? Phone me if this Gringott bloke drops in and says something's going on?"

"_Nymphadora _..."

"Please. _Pretty_ please? Pretty please with dancing gnomes?"

"Well ..." She looked at her daughter and her husband with a sort of affectionate exasperation. "Oh, all _right_. I'm not making you any guarantees, though. If I'm out when he calls, I'm out. I don't intend to sit around waiting all day, every day on the off-chance that someone wants me to play secret agent. All right?"

Tonks hugged her mother. "Thanks, Mum. No really, thank you for doing this for me. Right, I'll make you some dinner!"

Her parents exchanged glances. Their daughter's culinary reputation had never been high. "Er, never mind, dear, you sit down and have a rest," said her mother hastily. "I'll do it."

- - - - -

_Wednesday July 29th 1994_

Scrimgeour proved to be busy for most of the next day, but Tonks managed to find him with a gap in his schedule in the late afternoon. She approached him with great trepidation, but he listened to her information with great interest, approved the arrangement with the portrait, and actually used the phrase "well done". Tonks flushed with pleasure at this. Coming from Scrimgeour, it was practically the equivalent of pinning a medal on her robes, and she felt in an exceptionally good mood as she strolled back to her cubicle.

Rhiannon Davies was waiting for her at her desk. "Well, you look cheerful," she said lightly. "Won the _Daily Prophet_ prize draw or something?"

"Just got an unexpected pat on the back from Scrimgeour," said Tonks in an offhand manner, hastily arranging her face to look less gleeful. "Anything I can do for you?"

"Oh yes, my dear. How would you like a temporary job?"

"Tempor ... you mean the _World Cup?_"

Rhiannon grinned. "I had a word with Ludo Bagman, and he practically leapt at the chance to add you to the roster. I'd love to say this was entirely down to my feminine wiles, but he told me that man Barty Crouch in International Magical Co-operation has been sending memos round saying he wants to boost the security presence and wants as many Aurors as he can get. Apparently he was bending Scrimgeour's ear in a meeting all morning, and is sending a representative round to argue the toss about who we can spare. I wouldn't fancy being the poor sod who has to do _that_."

Tonks dismissed the problems of the Department of International Magical Co-operation with a wave of her hand. The news that she'd get to see the World Cup Final live was far more interesting. "Rhiannon! That's _brilliant!_ Who will I be working with?"

"Me, with any luck. I asked Ludo to put you on my team; said you'd only just started work here, and you were still learning and not doing anything important yet." She held a hand up placatingly when Tonks squawked in protest. "I know, I know, Cassius has got a bee in his bonnet about this Liquor stuff, and I suppose he could be right. You'll have to go and work on that if anything breaks on the case, but otherwise you're supposed to help us make sure the spectators don't actually riot. Can't see that being too much of a problem. We'll have to watch the match from ground level, but hey, _we're in!_"

"Yes!" Tonks suppressed an urge to dance across the floor of the Auror offices as Scrimgeour passed by, escorting a young red-headed man towards his office. That jogged her memory. "Hey, Rhiannon," she said, "I've been meaning to ask you – who's the bloke in the Muggle police uniform you were showing around? There wasn't anything from you about it on the daily bulletin."

"You _read_ that? Wow, I'll have to be more conscientious, I didn't know anyone bothered." She chuckled, then quickly sobered up. "You wouldn't have seen anything on there about the developments on that case, because there haven't been any. I've been able to give him a few hints about where to look, but we're basically just waiting for something to happen. Not fun."

Tonks felt her jaw drop again. "You mean he's a _real_ Muggle detective? What on earth was he doing in _here_?"

"Liaising." It appeared to dawn on her that Tonks really didn't have any idea what she was talking about. "Sorry, I thought you'd have seen it if you read the bulletins. To put it bluntly, it looks like a wizard has been killing Muggles over the last year or so." She paused to scowl. "He – or she – tortures them first, then brands some kind of sign onto their forehead before they kill them. Very unpleasant, and we have absolutely no idea who's doing it or what their sadistic little symbol means."

Tonks whistled. "Yeuch. How come I haven't seen this in the _Prophet_, then?"

"Because you probably don't read short paragraphs on page 19," said Davies bitterly. "And that's all the _Prophet_ will bother to print when it's only _Muggles_ getting killed. I suppose that might help though, we're trying to avoid '_letting the killer find out how much we know about the case_' which for the record is approximately sod all. We managed to persuade the Muggle police to assign this Superintendent Nelson to the case; luckily he's got a cousin whose kid went to Hogwarts so he already knew about magic. I'm working on the case from our end, and he's telling them I'm a 'psychic' if anyone asks what I'm doing there."

"You're a _Seer_?" enquired Tonks, curiously. She'd always found the stories of Seers – real ones, anyway – quite impressive. "Seriously?"

"No of course not, you idiot, don't be daft. I've got to have some cover story though, haven't I?"

"Ah. Fair point." Tonks glanced around at her desk; she really wasn't in the mood for re-reading the same reports for the third time. She picked up the memos, but they weren't important enough to warrant more than a quick glance, simply noting a redesigned expenses claim form (she groaned as she realised that the one in her out-tray that she'd filled in to claim her money back for the books was now just scrap paper) and the date when tickets for the Ministry Hallowe'en Ball would go on sale. "Oh, stuff this for today, Rhiannon. It's nearly five o'clock. Coming?"

"Yeah. It's been a long day. And Donnie's been in a bad mood for most of it."

"Why?" asked Tonks as they strolled down the corridor together past the hurricanes battering the enchanted windows.

Rhiannon chuckled. "Because we're letting Farley go, that's why. He was _sure_ he'd caught someone red-handed trying to commit murder, and now he's had to give up on the idea - all because of, as he puts it, one trivial little thing. Or as we'd call it, hard evidence from Veritaserum."

"Is he always like that?"

"Pretty much, I'm afraid. Once he gets the idea into his head that someone's a villain, he doesn't like to give it up. He's a stubborn Irish git that way." Tonks glanced at her companion, but she looked as if she were merely tolerantly amused at her boyfriend's foibles.

They stepped out of the lifts into the Atrium, bustling as usual with dozens of Ministry wizards and witches going home after work. Tonks glanced up as she bumped into someone; then froze, looking at a witch on the other side of the foyer who was standing in line for one of the Floo fireplaces.

"Rhiannon," she said urgently, pointing at the witch, "who's _she?_"

"Her?" Davies stared at Tonks in bemusement as the witch stepped into the flames and vanished, too far away for Tonks to hear what her destination was. "Haven't a clue, some Ministry official by the look of her. Why?"

"Because I've seen her before. Coming out of an alcove at the Transfigured Toad."


	6. Good Auror, Bad Auror

**5. Good Auror, Bad Auror**

_Thursday July 30__th__ 1994_

When Cassius arrived at Auror Headquarters the following morning, Tonks was already waiting for him, feeling rather pleased with herself. She'd remembered that there were photographs of everybody who worked at the Ministry on record – she'd spent a dull fifteen minutes posing for hers on her first day – so it had been easy, albeit tedious, to search through them to find out the name the woman she'd seen leaving in the Floo. After a couple of hours spent putting Gogol's painting to work, she now had several pictures and some details.

Cassius had obviously noticed her excitement. "Hello, Tonks," he said in surprise. "What's the matter?"

In reply, Tonks spread the photographs on his desk. "Mrs Beatrice Easton," she said smugly. "Works part-time in the Pest Advisory Bureau. Also an occasional visitor to the Transfigured Toad, where she talks to dodgy-looking wizards in alcoves, then rushes out as if she doesn't want to be seen. Think that's worth investigating?"

Cassius studied the pictures carefully. "You mean you saw her when you went there the other day with young Bentley?"

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

"Definite. I'm good with faces. They trained us to be observant, and I always did study them to work out how to Metamorphose, anyway."

He looked at her thoughtfully. "Very well, I'll agree with you this far; it _does_ look a trifle suspicious. What did you have in mind?"

"Go and question her?"

Cassius smiled patiently. "We can't, Tonks. It's not against the law to go to a pub. We've no idea what she was doing there. It could be something perfectly innocuous … well, I suppose that's unlikely at the Transfigured Toad, but at any rate, it may be nothing to do with us."

"We've always thought it was a centre for illegal trades, though, haven't we? Ben said so. Haven't we been suspicious of that place for ages?"

"Suspicions, yes. Proof, no. The patrons don't exactly talk to us much. You don't _know_ she was buying something she shouldn't have been, and even if she was, it probably has no connection to what we're working on. She could just have been – oh, I don't know, meeting her secret lover or something!"

"I doubt it. I couldn't see his face properly, but from the way he walked, I'd say he was a lot younger than her."

The patient smile reappeared. "That was just an illustration, Tonks. We do have to be careful. Even Aurors need _some_ proof these days before we throw accusations around."

"Oh." Tonks looked crestfallen. "So you don't think we should investigate her then?"

"I didn't say that." He paused to think. "Were there any notes on her in the Auror files? Any convictions, known bad habits, evidence of corruption in her Ministry work?"

"No, not really," said Tonks with a touch of disappointment. "There isn't any mention of her having underworld connections in the confidential records – well, other than the one I just added, anyway."

"I see. What's her background like? Job? Home life? Is there anything we know about her?"

Tonks riffled through the sheets of duplicated parchment on her desk. "She's 47, married, one grown-up child, who left home some time ago. Lives in Worthing, south coast. Husband works as a broom salesman, spends a lot of time travelling around the country on business. She works three days a week doing administrative stuff for the pest advice people. Erm ... helps organise local Bring and Fly sales, little things like that. Generally seems respectable, not at all the sort of person you'd expect to see in a dubious Knockturn Alley pub."

Cassius pondered this. "Didn't you tell Bentley you were willing to go undercover there and look around?"

"Well, yes, although I haven't got around to it yet, obviously ..."

"Very well, then. We may be able to kill two pixies with one curse here. If she goes in that pub again, we'll follow her. Suspicion is _just_ enough for us to legally cast a tracer spell to alert us if she goes there." Tonks brightened at the suggestion. "We can key it to those panic buttons, in fact. Should it activate, you get there as quickly as possible, follow her in, and observe."

-----

_Thursday August 6__th__ 1994_

Tonks' optimism lasted until the weekend – the spellcasting was interesting, and the Friday following, as the last day of the month, had been a red-letter day (literally so, as she had put a Colour-Changing Charm on the appropriate page of her desk calendar). Cassius observed this with polite bafflement, but Tonks didn't care; the date might not be of great significance to anyone else, but to her it marked the day she got her very first payslip as an Auror. She thought she might take it home and frame it.

The next week was mostly rather discouraging.

O'Gregan and Cornworthy dropped by her cubicle occasionally to give her a rundown on their progress in the Ashford case – or to be more precise, on their lack of it. They reported that they'd been unable to find any way in which his nephew and nieces could have got to London and back from their distant locations without being missed or observed. ("Mary Edgecombe couldn't find any Floo traces for them, there was no sign of illegal Portkey use, and frankly I don't think they could Apparate further than the next street to save their lives," explained O'Gregan gloomily. "And none of them have any dubious contacts we're aware of." )

Tonks asked hopefully if they'd inform her if anything interesting turned up in their preliminary investigations of the material from Farley's interrogation, but the results there were equally negative. They had no information on the blonde woman ("She probably _was_ too good to be true," said Cornworthy sadly). Arkwright the erstwhile zookeeper, now down on his luck, had said little that was repeatable when interviewed ("He made some suggestions," O'Gregan told her, "but I don't think any of them were physically possible without the use of a wand, now"). And although not all of Ashford's trade rivals were able to show alibis for the night of the attack, there was nothing to connect them with it either. ("I wouldn't say they actually regretted what Farley did – except that he didn't succeed – but we haven't found links with him," said Cornworthy.) Tonks got the distinct impression that they were hoping she and Cassius might find some way to progress, approaching the case from the other end.

However, Beatrice Easton stayed away from the Transfigured Toad, which Tonks was sure could only be ascribed to sheer stubbornness. And another trip down Knockturn Alley as Mrs Anonymous produced little worth even a passing mention in the daily bulletin.

By the following Thursday she'd more or less given up any expectation of quick results. So, when the button on her desk buzzed while she was sitting reading a dull memo from Scrimgeour, it didn't immediately register.

Cassius, doing much the same in the next cubicle, looked up. "_Tonks!_ That's the tracer alarm!"

"What? Oh, _hell_." She raced out of the office towards the lifts, cursing the spells that stopped her Apparating out, with Cassius following at a more sedate pace. As she rode down to the foyer, she was transfiguring her robes into the kind of scruffy attire necessary to fit in at the Transfigured Toad, and changing her face into that of a young man, drawing extremely curious looks from her fellow passengers.

She didn't think the new face was particularly impressive – she didn't practice male faces very often – bur she'd been forced to agree with Cassius that a strange man was far less likely to attract notice in a place like the Toad than an unaccompanied woman. ("Being a Metamorphmagus doesn't allow me to change my basic, er, anatomy," she'd explained, reddening slightly, "but I can do more or less what I like with the shape of what I've got. So I can shrink my boobs down and expand the hair follicles on the face to get a convincing stubble. And if you get the shape change right it alters your larynx, so you get the voice for free.") With any luck, long robes and a hood would hide any imperfections in her disguise, and that sort of attire was almost _de rigeur_ in a place like the Toad anyway.

She Disapparated as soon as the lift reached the foyer floor and, as before, appeared just round the corner from the pub. Taking a deep breath, she strolled in and went over to the bar, looking a lot more confident than she felt. McAllister the landlord, was there, but he gave no sign of recognition, which made her breathe slightly more easily. _No reason why he _should_ recognise me, of course._

"Firewhiskey and ginger ale, a little ice," she said, in her best attempt at a gruff voice. While he was pouring her drink, she glanced around. Her luck was in; Beatrice Easton was sitting alone at a table in one corner, apparently waiting for someone, and looking very uncomfortable – she seemed to be attempting to be as inconspicuous as possible. It wasn't working; she was attracting a number of curious glances from other patrons, which made it easier for Tonks to observe her as well without her actions standing out.

As Tonks watched, she saw the woman's face light up with relief as a man walked over to her table and muttered something to her. She got up and they disappeared into one of the alcoves. The man's face was hooded, and he appeared to have some kind of scarf around the lower part again, which meant that he fitted right in to his surroundings. The little she could see, though, looked like the same man she'd seen previously.

Tonks sipped at the Firewhiskey thoughtfully. It was obvious that she had to get closer, but how? _Oh well_, _I'm just going to have to take the unicorn by the horn. Only way_. She turned to the barman. "I'm going to wait in one of those," she said, nodding at the alcoves. "If a bloke called Mickey Kerrigan comes in, tell him where I am." With that, she confidently walked over to the alcove next to the one into which Mrs Easton had disappeared, hoping fervently that there wasn't a _real_ Mickey Kerrigan anywhere at hand. If there was, she was going to have to do some very fast talking.

The landlord had thoughtfully provided curtains for all the alcoves to ensure his patrons had privacy for whatever business they chose to conduct. Tonks was glad of this; as what she was going to do would look _very_ suspicious if anyone saw it.

She took out the 'knife' that K had issued her; one of its useful little functions, discovered when reading the instruction book, was an eavesdropping tool. She flipped out a couple of small metal studs from one of its many little enchanted compartments, placed one in her ear, then tapped the other with her wand and placed it against the alcove wall, where it stuck.

The voices coming from the other side of the dividing partition were indistinct. Tonks had half expected this, but that didn't make it any less annoying. There was evidently some sort of privacy charm on the partition; she wasn't sure whether the people in the next alcove had cast it as a precaution, or if the landlord had done it for _all_ of the alcoves as an additional service. Tonks would have put Galleons – well, Sickles anyway – on it being the latter. It was that sort of place.

The eavesdropping gadget turned out to be reasonably good at counteracting the effects of privacy charms, but not perfect, and Easton and the wizard were talking in frustratingly low voices. Tonks could make out the general tone of what they were saying, but many of the actual words were inaudible. She swore under her breath; if she hadn't rushed out so quickly, she could have brought along a dose of the Sense-Enhancing Potion.

_Too late to worry about that now_. She caught a reference to the payment of a fairly large sum of money for goods supplied – _no surprise there_ – spoken by Easton in a pleading tone of voice, and something about her husband's activities while travelling from her companion, said with a definite sneer. The thing that really made her prick up her ears was a reference to 'bottles of potion' by the wizard. As far as she could tell, they were talking about something that Easton was going to be giving to her husband without his knowledge. She didn't sound convinced about it, but the wizard was replying in a tone of breezy reassurance.

Tonks was caught by surprise when she heard their footsteps leaving the alcove; realising that the privacy charm had blotted out the noise of them getting up. She hesitated for a moment; it was going to look extremely suspicious if she followed them out immediately, but there wasn't much else she could do. _After all, I don't have to come here with the same appearance ever again._

She stumbled as she left the alcove, forgetting the step and knocking into a table, which slowed her down just enough to allow her quarry to leave the pub. Cursing again, she quickly followed them, hoping that the rest of the customers were too concerned with their own affairs to be paying much attention to a stranger. Her luck held; the landlord gave her an annoyed look when she didn't straighten the table, and one or two drinkers glanced up at her with a smirk, but then returned to their own conversations.

It took a moment or two for her eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight outside the dingy pub. She couldn't see Beatrice Easton anywhere, but that wasn't a cause for concern if everything had gone according to plan. Cassius had been waiting outside to pick up her trail as he knew her appearance; Tonks would follow whoever she was meeting, since Cassius wouldn't be able to recognise him if they left the pub separately.

She looked around quickly; Diagon Alley was crowded today, with many foreign-looking wizards and witches – doubtless tourists here for the World Cup – gawking at the shop windows. She spotted the man just as he turned the corner into Knockturn Alley. _No surprise there, either_. He was moving at quite a fair pace, glancing round casually every now and again. She set off in pursuit as quickly as she could without being too obvious, looking round uncomfortably. Stealth and Tracking had always been her weakest subject during Auror training, even if she had somehow scraped a pass.

She tried to follow in a casual-looking stroll, although making sure to keep one hand close to her wand. The wizard walked rapidly down the narrow street, slowing about a third of the way down to enter a large shop. Tonks nodded in recognition when she caught up; the sign above the window read _Borgin & Burkes_. She watched the doorway as best she could while pretending to examine the goods in a window on the other side of the street (a dusty display of shrunken heads that looked as if it hadn't been changed in a couple of years).

She wondered if there was any way that she could manage to cast an inconspicuous Tracking Charm on the wizard as he came out. She'd been rather taken by the spell when it was taught early on in her training; it allowed an Auror to use their wand as a pointer to show the distance and direction of their target, but did suffer from a couple of severe disadvantages if anyone saw you using it. Firstly, it was easy to cast a counter-charm. And secondly, it was hard to explain away without getting yourself hexed.

The wizard came out of the shop about ten minutes later with a disgruntled expression and turned back towards Diagon Alley, nodding at people he met but moving quickly . In order to remain inconspicuous, Tonks was forced to stay well back, out of effective wand aiming range, until he reached the end of Knockturn Alley; and at that point her luck ran out. The wizard looked around once and then Disapparated.

Under her breath, Tonks muttered a number of potent words that she wouldn't be putting in her report.

-----

Cassius wasn't there when she arrived back at headquarters. She slumped dejectedly into her chair, reached for a quill and parchment, and started to scribble down notes on the results (or lack thereof) of the day's activities. A paper aeroplane drifted into her in-tray, and she listlessly unfolded it. It was a printed memo from the Department of Magical Games and Sports:

_Dear Miss Tonks_

_A formal introduction and training session for security staff at the Quidditch World Cup will take place on Wednesday 12__th__ August in the main Meeting Room on Level Seven. It is expected that personnel will be addressed by Bartemius Crouch of the Department of International Magical Co-operation, Albert Bradley, British/Irish Representative to the Union of European Quidditch Associations, and Senior Auror Liaison Gawain Robards. The session commences at 10am sharp and is expected to last until approximately 4pm. Lunch will be provided. Please confirm receipt of this memorandum, and inform the Department immediately if you are unable to attend._

Tonks reached for a memo form to write a reply, then noticed a handwritten postscript. A huge grin spread across her face as she read it:

_Your charming friend Rhiannon told me you were a Stinger. I hope this will be of some use to you!_

_My very best wishes to Nymphadora Tonks,_

_Ludo Bagman_

Tonks let out of whoop of glee. Just this once, she didn't even mind the use of her full name. This was another thing she was going to take home and frame! She was still laughing happily when Cassius arrived and looked at her with curiosity.

"Did you get him then?"

Tonks sobered up a little. "No. He Disapparated. How about Mrs Easton?"

"Stepped into the Floo station in Diagon Alley and went back home – I managed to get close enough to hear where she was going, but I could hardly follow her into her house without authorisation, or something concrete to base suspicion on. Did you learn anything useful?"

Tonks described her visit to the Transfigured Toad and the subsequent trip down Knockturn Alley briefly. "So we're not much further on, I guess," she finished in disappointment. "Pity. I'd like to know what potion she was feeding her old man. You never know, it _could_ be the one we're after."

Cassius considered this. "It would be a real stroke of luck if it was, but sometimes you do get them ... You know, this might just be enough to work with," he added. "Perhaps we could call on her and play 'good Auror, bad Auror'? It would be mostly bluff, of course, but you'd be surprised how often that works with people who aren't hardened villains. And from the way you described her behaviour, I very much doubt she is."

Tonks perked up at the prospect of action. "Suits me. Which of us is going to be the good Auror?"

"Me, I think," said Cassius apologetically. "I've never really been very good at playing the, erm, the 'heavy', I believe it's called." He grinned. "How about if you be, oh I don't know – the overenthusiastic, out-of-control young investigator eager for results any way you can get them? And I'll be the world-weary Auror with half an eye on retirement who just wants to make things easy? I'm sure we could do that."

Tonks smiled back. "Works for me. I'll make myself look forbidding. When shall we do it?"

Cassius pulled out the set of notes on Beatrice Easton that Tonks had duplicated for him. "Let's see ... she doesn't work Fridays, and apparently her husband is away on business. Tomorrow might be as good a time as any, then?"

Tonks nodded. "It's a deal."

"Very well," said Cassius. "Meet me here tomorrow at nine, and we'll go straight over. Look up the Apparition point for Worthing – they might even have a Floo connection there, you'd be surprised how many small towns do. If there is, we'll take that and keep things simple." He grinned again, mischievously this time. "And that will give you the whole evening to practice being mean and nasty. I don't suppose it should require too much extra effort, really."

He ducked the screwed-up piece of parchment Tonks threw at him as they both burst into laughter.

-----

Tonks arrived at work early the following morning in order to check the Ministry recommendations for travel to Worthing. It turned out that there was indeed a Floo and Portkey station there, down an obscure side street, inside a small office that the Ministry had purchased for the purpose some years before (at the request of a Wizengamot member whose cousin lived nearby).

By the time Cassius arrived at ten to nine she was already getting fidgety, to his great amusement. Both made sure to slip their Auror badges into their pockets, ready to fix onto their clothing in prominent positions once they were out of sight of any Muggles. There was no point in trying to be anonymous this time; the whole idea was for them to arrive at Beatrice Easton's door looking both official and unfriendly.

Tonks _had_ in fact practiced the previous night, experimenting with making herself look as tough as possible. She eventually settled for shortening her hair to a wiry, close-cropped style, and giving herself a squarish jaw that jutted out in the manner of the Muggle police tough guys she'd seen in her father's old rented films. Her mirror merely issued a feeble protest; in the last few weeks it had grown used to her leaving the flat in unflattering guises. It had sounded almost pathetically grateful when she returned to normal for the journey to the office.

She had always found that the _real_ trouble with travelling the Floo network was fact that any trip longer than a short hop across town left you feeling disoriented. Although it was a relatively short journey to Worthing, she was facing backwards when she stepped out of the flames at the station. As she turned to face the door she felt her foot catch on something; she tried to stop herself falling, but couldn't, and pitched forward into the room.

Of course, it was just her bad luck that there was, once again. a wizard standing nearby for her to collide with.

_Bloody Hell!_ she raged. albeit internally. _Why do they ALWAYS decorate these things with raised edge grates? It's not like they're actually needed!_ She picked herself up, brushed the dust from her robes and turned to apologise to the wizard.

Her jaw dropped. _Oh great. I just _love_ coincidences_.

The wizard, who was slightly older than her, looked at her in puzzlement for a moment; then his eyes widened in sudden recognition. An older woman who had been standing behind him, out of range of Tonks' clumsiness, looked between them curiously. A slight _whoosh_ from the fireplace announced the arrival of Cassius, who carefully stepped over the edge of the grate to join them.

The woman was clearly trying very hard to keep a straight face. She was in her forties, perhaps, but still had dark hair and a trim figure, and was smartly dressed in Muggle clothing. "Aren't you going to introduce us, Montgomery?" she said, unable to keep slight amusement from her voice. "I'm sure girls always throw themselves at you, but I didn't realise they did it _literally_."

Both Tonks and the wizard reddened slightly. "Mother, this is a Miss ... Tonks, if I recall," he said, with a trace of irritation. "Do you remember me telling you once, when I was at school, about this wretched first-year shape-shifter who liked to mess with the heads of the prefects?" Tonks' blush deepened. "This is her, if I'm not very much mistaken."

Tonks gritted her teeth. "Yes, it's her ... er, I mean, yes it's me," she said. "It was a long time ago, though. Bygones?"

"I suppose so," said the wizard grumpily. "I'm surprised you even kept a face I could recognise. Did I get your name right?"

"Yes," said Tonks. "Nym – er, yes, Tonks was right. I'm surprised you remembered me."

"_Remembered_ you?" said the man. "After six months of you appearing and disappearing like a demented leprechaun? I thought I was losing my mind. I nearly asked Madam Pomfrey to check my head out." Tonks winced.

"Oops. Sorry. No, I mean it," she said hastily at the look of disbelief on his face. "I was only a kid! And I was probably ... oh, I don't know, overcompensating for being away from home and missing my parents?" She realised as soon as she said this that it had touched a nerve, as the faces of both strangers tightened perceptibly. _Oh great. Just great. _Now_ what?_ "Erm, did I put my foot in it again?"

"Yes, Miss Tonks, you did, I'm afraid to say," said the woman evenly. Now that she wasn't distracted by the need to pick herself up off the floor, Tonks noticed that her voice had a very slight accent of some kind, although it was sufficiently overlaid by conventional English as to be almost undetectable. "Your glorious career as a Hogwarts joker must have been right about the time my husband ... was killed. I don't suppose you stopped to wonder if my son had just lost _his_ father, though, did you?"

Tonks winced again. "No, I didn't," she said, pleased to hear that her voice reflected her genuine regret. "Look, please, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to bring up bad memories for you."

"Can't be helped," said the wizard gruffly. "As you say, it's a long time ago now." He suddenly seemed to realise that Cassius was present. "I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself to your grandfather. I'm Montgomery Hallendale, this is my mother Angelica."

Cassius came out of one of his reveries, and smiled politely. "Grandfather? Not me. Merely her colleague. I'm Cassius Smethwyck, by the way. Very pleased to meet you both."

"That's OK," said Angelica Hallendale, smiling in return. "I hope she doesn't cause you too much trouble."

"Not at all. She's a reformed character, obviously." He chuckled; Tonks gritted her teeth and fixed a smile in place. "I hope we didn't delay your journey. It's always a little cramped in these single-grate stations."

The woman laughed. "Oh, it wouldn't have made any difference. I asked Montgomery to book a Portkey for us to go up to London on. Normally I just drive into Brighton to shop in Wizard's Row, but they don't stock much in the way of cosmetic products. And I know even Muggles can supposedly use the Floo network with the right kind of powder, but I've never much _liked_ the idea of stepping into a fire."

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad," said Tonks, puzzled. "I know it's a bit scary when you do it the first time, but you soon get used to it. Surely your parents must have shown you how when you were young?"

A twinkle appeared in Angelica's eyes. "No, young lady. To do that, they'd have needed to know how to use it themselves. And as Muggles, that would have been unlikely, wouldn't it?" She smiled at them. "I'm sure they would have found the idea quite as alarming as I did when Hank – my husband – first told me about it."

"Your _husband_ told you?" asked Tonks in confusion. "You mean they didn't teach you at school either?"

"I didn't go to school, Miss Tonks," she said, laughing. "I was privately taught. And I dare say the idea would have given my teachers a heart attack as well. I never realised there was a whole magical world out there until I met Hank. And he was magical in more ways than one." She raised her eyebrows at the younger woman a couple of times. Her son looked at her with a trace of exasperation, and his mother smiled at him.

"You mean you're a _Muggle_?" said Cassius with an expression of dawning comprehension. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise. You seemed so ... comfortable with the idea of magic."

She shrugged. "It's been over thirty years, Mr Smethwyck. I've had plenty of time to pick up the jargon. And I have two wizard sons to keep me up to date with what's going on, even if Montgomery here is making his fortune in pounds and dollars, not Galleons." She glanced affectionately at her son, who again looked slightly embarrassed at the parental praise.

"Thank you, Mother," he said firmly, checking his watch. "It's very nearly time for the Portkey to activate, so perhaps we should get ready?" He glanced around, picked up an old newspaper from a table, and handed one end to his mother, who winked at Tonks and Cassius.

"Well, it was nice talking to you, Miss Tonks, and you, Mr Smethwyck," she said. "Oh, we never did ask. Now you've, er, reformed, what is it you do?"

Tonks couldn't resist. Her face took on a mischievous look. "Oh, it's quite a responsible job really." She took the badge from her pocket and held it up where they could see it. "We're Aurors."

She enjoyed the shocked expressions that appeared on the faces of both Hallendales a moment before the Portkey activated and they winked out of sight.

-----

The Easton home turned out to be in a pleasant residential street where the houses were large, detached, and with an ample amount of garden, and which was fortunately empty of people when they arrived. Cassius, who was surprisingly thoughtful, stood well back around the corner as Tonks hid between a couple of parked cars and surreptitiously tapped K's wizard locator compass with her wand to see if there might be any other unsuspected wizards living in the street. If there were, they were obviously out; the needle swung round and pointed straight to the Easton residence.

Tonks changed into her tough face, and they strolled up to the front door with badges showing clearly on their robes. She hammered on the old-fashioned door knocker as loudly as she could.

"All right, all right!" came a querulous voice from within. "No need to break the door down!" Mrs Easton opened the door with an annoyed look on her face, which immediately – and tellingly – fell as she registered who her visitors were.

Tonks seized the tactical advantage this gave her. "Want a little word about your shopping habits, Mrs Easton," she said brusquely, pushing past. "Let's go inside. Where's your lounge?" She strode down the hall, with Beatrice Easton stumbling after her, clearly in shock. Cassius, following, quietly closed the door behind them with a whispered Locking Charm.

The large lounge had been tastefully furnished in a style that only a wizard would have recognised as not being entirely Muggle. Tonks nodded to Mrs Easton and pointed at one of the chairs. "Sit down," she said curtly; Mrs Easton obeyed, with a look that was so frightened Tonks found it irresistibly comical. She managed to turn her grin into a scowl in time to keep up her role.

"Wh ... what do you want?" said Easton defensively, finding her voice. "Why are you here? I ... I haven't done anything wrong." Even she seemed to realise it was a bit late to be saying that, given the way she'd reacted. She swallowed

"Ought to sue your face for slander then," said Tonks gruffly. She was finding it hard to keep a straight face herself. _Time to bring in Cassius._ "Partner? Let's tell her what we saw yesterday, shall we?"

They briefly described – Tonks rudely, Cassius in his usual polite manner – how they'd set a tracer for Mrs Easton and followed her the day before; although they implied they'd seen and heard a lot more than they actually had. Beatrice Easton's lip started to tremble as she listened, and when Cassius described how he'd followed her to the Floo station she burst into tears.

Tonks winced. Fortunately Mrs Easton was in no fit state to pay attention to her. Fun as it was to act hard, she didn't especially like bullying someone who was probably not, after all, a career criminal. She glanced at Cassius, who shook his head in warning, with the clear implication: _I don't like it either, but it's the job you signed up for. You have to deal with it._ She turned back to the weeping woman.

"Come on now, Mrs Easton. If you can give us a good explanation of what you were doing and what you were intending to give to your husband, we won't necessarily have to take this any further." This statement was blatantly untrue, of course, but was in line with the standard interrogation techniques listed in the Auror manuals: _Give them an opportunity to jinx themselves. Hint that they can talk their way out of it. Let them concoct some explanation. Then pick apart the inconsistencies in their story until you have them tied in knots._ Tonks knew she wouldn't have thought twice if it had been a serious villain in front of her.

"I … I just wanted some cheap p ... potion ingredients," stammered Easton. "This … man said he could get them at cost price. You know, er … on import. Special offer."

"Special offer," said Tonks in a disbelieving voice. "Right."

"Well, you know … hard to get sometimes."

"Hard to get," repeated Tonks, in the same tone. "Which ones?"

"I … I'm sorry?"

"Which ingredients? Where was he getting them? Why couldn't you find them here?"

"Oh, er ... they were ..."

Cassius interrupted. "Mrs Easton," he said gently. "I don't think you're convincing my young colleague here. Or me, if it comes to that. Just tell us what you were buying."

Beatrice Easton broke down in tears again. "I was buying a Love Potion," she said in a very small voice.

Tonks and Cassius looked at each other with a mixture of astonishment and amusement. "_What?_" asked Tonks.

"A Love Potion," said Easton with a catch in her voice. "You know how it is."

"Not really," said Tonks. "What did –"

Cassius hastily interrupted, with another warning glance at his partner: _Time for the velvet glove now._ "Come now, Mrs Easton, why don't you just tell us all about it," he said kindly. "Get it off your chest. You'll feel better for it." Tonks, with some experience of his usual way of speaking, noticed a very slight insincerity in his tone, but she was sure their suspect wouldn't. It seemed to work, anyway.

"It's my hus – husband, Bobby," she sobbed. She pointed at a framed wizarding photograph of a good-looking man on a sideboard; he winked suggestively at Tonks, which she found surprising given her current appearance. "He works away from home most of the time, and I'm sure he ... he … strays." She blew her nose loudly. "He gets owls, and pretends it's nothing important, but I can tell from the handwriting they're from witches. I … I don't want to lose him. I felt as long as I was s..s..sure he _loved_ me, I wouldn't really mind if he was faithful or not." The tears started to flow freely again, to the discomfort of both Aurors.

"I see," said Cassius soothingly. "And so you went to this man to buy a Love Potion."

"Yes," she said, sniffing. "Well, I tried buying the ingredients first, but I was never very good at making potions. So I started buying bottles of it ready-made. But the ones you can get in Diagon Alley aren't very effective, and anyway I didn't want people seeing me buy them and knowing my business! So I tried to find out if anyone sold something … stronger, and then a friend mentioned in passing a shop they'd heard about in, well –" she whispered the next two words "– _Knockturn Alley_, and I went to see … I didn't think it was really illegal!"

"We often find people think that," said Tonks in a cold voice. _Probably because it isn't, technically speaking_, she added to herself. Simple Love Potions were a bit of a joke, and even Amortentia wasn't actually _banned_. The serious offences lay in forcing the drinker into doing something they would regret, or using the Potion over an extended period as a form of control. Her comment made Mrs Easton look nervous again, however. _That pretty much what you were planning then, Beatrice?_

Cassius looked at the woman cautiously, evidently weighing up what his approach should be. Tonks realised, now she had a moment or two to think about it, that so far they only had something small-time Unless the seller had had other items to offer, of course.

"We don't like people selling this sort of thing, Mrs Easton," said Cassius after a moment or two.

"I – I – I know."

"We find that people who sell items of this kind, however relatively harmless in themselves, often supply much worse items also." It seemed he had the same idea.

"Y – yes, I suppose they do."

"You could get in a lot of trouble, you know." His voice became sterner.

"Oh, no, please don't arrest me!" she cried, panic-stricken. "Please, don't let my husband know! Please ... I don't want to lose him over this. _Please._"

Tonks wasn't sure whether that would be a good or a bad thing, but she was quite sure that she didn't want to make it any of her business. "You'd better be co-operative, then," she snapped for effect. She didn't like bullying people - or more to the point, didn't like the thought she might start to like it. _Next time we do this, Cassius old mate, _you _can be the Bad Auror. I don't care if you're good at it or not._

Cassius, of course, was still playing the Good Auror. "Who is the man you met in the pub?" he said carefully. Again, Tonks could detect slight tension in his voice as he asked the crucial question.

"I don't know his name," she said with a gulp. "I don't even know what he looks like, really, he keeps his face hidden. I met him in a bookshop in Islington that the man in the shop told me about. He saw me looking at potions books and guessed what I wanted them for." Tonks raised her eyebrows. _How come everyone except the Ministry seems to have known about this damn bookshop? _"He offered to sell me what I needed, but _please_, I didn't use the Love Potions as much as he said I did. And I'd _never_ have used anything stronger if they didn't work, not even if he really had something like he hinted he had. I'd _never_ do that to Bobby. It sounded horrible."

Tonks looked at Cassius speechlessly. It seemed they'd found a real-life role model for her Mrs Anonymous character. _Sometimes, I just _love_ coincidences._

"I'm ... I'm really sorry," said Mrs Easton, who apparently hadn't noticed the exchange of looks. "I promise, I won't meet him next time." Both Aurors' heads jerked round at this.

"You arranged to meet him _again_?" said Tonks sharply. "When?"

"N ... next week," she said, frightened. "That was the arrangement. But I promise, I won't go."

"No, you won't," said Tonks grimly. "_I_ will."

-----

_Wednesday August 12__th__ 1994_

Tonks was cock-a-hoop for the next few days at the possibility of a real break in the case. Cassius was quietly pleased, explaining to Tonks – or anyone else who would listen – that it was always worth investigating minor leads like this, on the off chance that they would turn out to be a pointer to something important. Even Scrimgeour sent them a memo to say that he had noted their progress. It was approving rather than effusive, merely agreeing that this evidence did now seem to indicate that a dangerous situation might be developing, but according to Cassius that was much further than he'd ever gone before when commenting on the case.

Beatrice Easton informed them that she'd agreed to meet her contact exactly a week after their previous meeting, so they immediately started making plans for lunchtime on the following Thursday. Tonks spent much of her weekend and the following Monday and Tuesday at the Easton house, learning the details of their past dealings (such as they were – Mrs Easton had been too nervous of her contact and the surroundings to observe either closely), practising Metamorphosing into a perfect imitation of her hostess (who was seriously disconcerted as she watched Tonks experiment), and making sure she could get the voice and mannerisms _exactly_ right (she thought privately that as long as she stammered with alarm every other sentence, no-one could possibly tell the difference).

Fortunately, Bobby Easton seemed to be away much of the time, spending only one night in his marital home – or more to the point under the circumstances, his marital bed – during the entire time. Tonks had returned to her usual appearance once there was no need to play Bad Auror (apart from issuing regular Awful Warnings about what would happen if Mrs Easton told anybody what they were planning, to keep her in a suitable state of anxiety). The husband inspected his wife's visitor with considerable interest, and she made her excuses and left quickly before any embarrassing questions could be asked.

Naturally, by the time that she arrived at work on the following Wednesday, she'd completely forgotten about the World Cup security meeting, until Rhiannon Davies called to her as she passed by on the way out. "See you downstairs, Tonks!"

"Huh?" She turned her head to see Rhiannon leave, almost called her back, then remembered what day it was and glanced at her desk calendar. "Oh _hell_." Slightly flustered, she scribbled a note to Cassius to let him know where she'd gone, and hurriedly made her way down to Level Seven.

The meeting room turned out to be right at the end of the main corridor, and as she threw open the door a loud _ouch!_ from behind it indicated that, just possibly, there had been no need to be in such a hurry.

The door was pulled fully open by the wizard with the spotless robes and manicured moustache that she'd met twice before under similar unfortunate circumstances. He rubbed his elbow gingerly, and looked at Tonks with pursed lips. "_You!_ This is a private meeting, Miss ..."

"Tonks. Yes, I know, I got the memo, I'm on the list for the World Cup security. I'm really sorry if I'm late, Mr ..."

"Crouch. _Bartemius Crouch_," he said, with a look of exasperation. Tonks gulped. _How was I supposed to know what you looked like?_ A number of onlookers were watching the conversation and making generally unsuccessful attempts at keeping straight faces.

"I'm sorry, Mr Crouch ..." she began, but he impatiently waved aside this stumbling attempt at damage limitation.

"Just take a seat, please. We've wasted enough time on this already."

Tonks went over to find Rhiannon Davies, who was waving at her from across the room. Her morale wasn't improved when she distinctly overheard Crouch say to his assistant, _sotto voce_, "Weatherby, are you _sure_ she's on the list?"

Rhiannon moved her notes from the seat next to her, and Tonks flopped down into it gratefully. Her friend was wearing a wide grin. "You've met Barty Crouch before then?" she said in a too-innocent tone of voice.

"Erm ... I may have bumped into him from time to time," replied Tonks evasively. "What's the programme?"

She handed her a sheet of parchment. "Here. Ludo, Crouch, and the U.E.Q.A. rep are going to talk for a bit, then they're going to form us up into teams and tell us what duties we're assigned to."

"Right. Leaving it a bit late, aren't they?"

Rhiannon shrugged. "Well, they settled the team leaders quite a while ago. I've been called in for several training sessions already. I'm supposed to keep the rest of my team in line, act as the link for orders, and so on. Robards has been putting us all through our paces."

Tonks winced. "Robards? Oh, wonderful."

"Have you met him, then?" asked Rhiannon with slight surprise. "I know he's Scrimegour's second-in-command and all that, but this last few months he's mostly been doing World Cup stuff."

The room was starting to settle down as Tonks replied. "I know," she whispered. "Robards ... he took combat training when I was doing my three years. He's a bit tough on you, isn't he?" Rhiannon Davies raised her eyebrows in inquiry, but by now the room had gone quiet. "I'll tell you later," muttered Tonks in a dispirited fashion.

Her morale was considerably improved, though, when Ludo Bagman himself bounded into the room, with a cheerful expression and a breezy apology for being late. He winked at several people in the audience; including (Tonks was highly amused to note) Rhiannon, who rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath about athletes who let themselves get out of condition.

Looking at him as he was now, Tonks had to admit to herself that she _was_ slightly disappointed. His appearance and physique had definitely changed for the worse from the posters she'd had on her wall as a kid, but the roguish grin and boyish exuberance were still there. She couldn't suppress a grin of her own.

Bagman approached a small lectern placed at the front. "Good morning everybody!" he said brightly. "I'd like to say how very pleased I really am that all of you are willing to help us out with the security at the World Cup. I just know it's going to be a _wonderful_ occasion!" A few people cheered, and Bagman chuckled at them and rubbed his hands.

"Now then, just a few words about the line-up for this morning. First my colleague Barty here –" he slapped him on the back, at which Crouch pursed his lips again "– would like to talk about how to deal with all the foreigners coming to the match. You wouldn't believe some of the problems we've had arranging transport for them all! After that, Albert –" he indicated a dour-faced man who, from his appearance, might once have been a referee "– wants a word about the importance of not getting in the way while the actual match is on. Very vital that, we Beaters don't really care where we send the Bludgers as long as it's not at our own team, you wouldn't want to be hit by mistake!" That actually got a laugh from many of the audience. "Finally, this afternoon we'll hand you over to Mr Robards here to discuss the teams and ground rules." He pointed at Robards, a tough-looking man who nodded at them confidently. "Good luck, and I hope you'll have as wonderful a time as we're having! Over to you, Barty!"

Crouch stepped up to the lectern, with a disapproving look that suggested he didn't consider that security staff should be thinking in terms of having a wonderful time. He began to talk in clipped tones about the critical importance of the tournament for the reputation of wizarding Britain.

Tonks could see his point about it being vital to make a good impression on their foreign visitors, many of whom knew of the horrors of the 1970s and still regarded Britain as a potentially dangerous place, but found her attention wandering as his long and tedious address wore on. She glanced around the room; many other people, including Ludo Bagman, were fidgeting in their seats or staring into space with glazed expressions. The only person who seemed to be drinking in every word with rapt attention was Crouch's assistant.

Although she'd resolved to listen carefully to everything that was said, the sheer dullness of the speech defeated her, and she found her mind leaping ahead to consider what Robards might be going to say. Her first encounter with him still made her squirm with embarrassment.

-----

_October 1991_

Auror combat training had turned out to be held in a very large room off the main second level corridor in the Ministry, roughly the size of a Quidditch pitch. The floor looked like stone but felt soft underfoot, presumably treated with some kind of cushioning charm for safety reasons. It seemed bare and empty when the trainees filed in – there were a few pieces of equipment stacked against the walls, and a row of seats along one side, but it was otherwise just a wide open space.

Robards was waiting in front of the seats, standing next to a large blackboard hovering in mid-air. He nodded at each trainee as they passed by, but didn't speak, which started them sharing uneasy glances. When they had settled down, he pointed his wand at the door and locked it.

"Good morning," he said shortly. "Gawain Robards. I'll be tutoring you. I won't tell you how important combat skills are to an Auror – waste of time, you must know already. We'll start with some basics. Got those right, and you're well on the way." He tapped the board with his wand and a short list appeared:

_Stupefy_

_Impedimenta_

_Expelliarmus_

_Protego_

Apparition

"For the moment, to start with, we'll be making sure you can use these techniques _really_ proficiently. We'll go over them until you don't need to think about them to cast the spells quickly – you shouldn't need to say them at all, if you're good."

The class exchanged looks. "Just like that?" muttered one of them in a sceptical voice. "Not as easy as it sounds doing the spell without the incantation."

In reply, Robards nonchalantly pointed his wand at the empty chair next to the speaker. A jet of red light shot out of the end and smashed a hole in the seat, as the hapless trainee yelped and jumped out of the way.

"Just like that," he said with a slight twitch of the mouth that might have been a suppressed smile. "_Reparo._" The pieces of the seat flew back together. "I don't expect you to be able to do that quite as easily yet, though. Takes practice, although since you've got this far you should have some idea how it's done." He held up a hand to forestall renewed mutterings from the trainees. "I know, not all of you had good Defence teachers at school. But this mostly comes from you. You have to learn to focus the right way. You get these few techniques down pat, you'll be well set in any fight."

"But, sir ..." said Tonks hesitantly. "Surely they aren't enough by themselves? What if you get into a fight with someone who knows really powerful Dark Magic? Don't we need to know all the counters?" Robards' almost-smile became more pronounced. It looked uncomfortably like a dragon baring its teeth.

"It helps, yes. When there _is_ a counter. Eventually, we'll go into that in more detail, but these are the basics. Magical attack. Physical attack. Disarming. Spell blocking. Evasion. You can Apparate _within_ this room, by the way, if you were wondering, but not outside of it. Anyway, these give you fallback techniques. It's very important never to get caught hesitating in a fight, wondering what spell to cast next. Let's demonstrate." He waved a hand to indicate that Tonks should join him.

"Me, sir?" She stood up with an uneasy feeling. Although she'd always done well at the school Duelling Club, and had acquired some useful practical experience in occasional sticky situations on her travels; trying to fight a senior instructor was taking things to a whole new level.

"Yes, you. I generally pick the one who doesn't think these spells are enough to do any good. There's always one. So let's duel. I'll confine myself to the techniques on the board, all right?"

_Not really, no, but I don't suppose I can get out of it now, can I?_ "OK, sir. Er ... what can I use?"

"Anything you like, as long as it's legal and non-lethal. In fact, we'll even turn a blind eye to the first requirement. Do your worst. Wand ready then? Right." Robards nodded to one of the other trainees. "Give us a count of three." They bowed briefly to each other and held their wands out in the standard duelling position. Tonks was sure she could see the end of hers trembling slightly.

"One ... two ... _three._"

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" Tonks cried, aiming her wand at Robards and flinching slightly to duck anything coming her way. He, however, was already muttering "_Protego_" before she got to the end of the first word, and the spell bounced right back.

_The longest incantation you could have chosen. Brilliant! Why not just send him an owl to tell him what you're going to cast?_ His counter-spell was a Stunner, which she ducked, stumbling slightly. Off-balance, she thought briefly about Apparating, but didn't have time to gather her concentration as Robards shot a Disarming Charm at her, which she only just managed to fend off with a Shield Charm of her own.

_Damn! Right, diversionary tactics._ She waved her wand to create a loud explosion and a cloud of smoke in between them, which gave her time to focus and Apparate across the room, then cast a rapid Stunning Spell at the place where Robards was standing ... or at any rate, _had_ been standing. She realised that he too had Apparated away, and was now on the other side of the room. He reacted more quickly and sent an Impediment Jinx her way; this time, although her hasty Shield Charm blocked the worst of it, there was still enough force remaining to knock her over.

Panicking slightly, she dredged up an obscure spell from the back of her mind and cried "_Canis defensor!_" There was a loud bang, and a large and very vicious looking dog appeared out of thin air. It snarled, bared its teeth and leapt at the approaching Robards.

"_Impedimenta!_" His casually-spoken spell sent the dog flying across the room, where it hit the ground with considerable force and lay whimpering with its tail between its legs. It had, however, given Tonks time to get back on her feet again.

She only just managed to duck the next Stunning Spell, and in desperation she fired back the nastiest spell she could think of on the spur of the moment, a Furnace Hex. _You don't mind illegal, sir? Do my worst? Right you are, then._ It didn't hit him – if it had, it would have given him some very painful burns – but it forced him to Apparate out of its path again, which gave Tonks time to start worrying.

Robards had reappeared not too far away, and now began to cast a stream of Stunners, Impediment Jinxes and Disarming Charms at her. She realised that he wasn't even bothering to voice the incantations now. It barely gave her time to do anything but duck, dodge, and throw up Shield Charm after Shield Charm to fend them off. She was extremely glad that the arena was mostly empty space – if there had been any objects in the way, she would surely have tripped over at least one of them by now. Her few attempts at countering with a Stunner were brushed off easily. She was beginning to see his point; it _was_ easier to cast something simple that didn't require much thought.

As she stumbled backwards under the force of one of the spells, she caught his eyes, and watched them flick past her shoulder momentarily to a point just behind her, and as he suddenly disappeared from view with a _crack_ Tonks gambled. She spun 180 degrees, crying "_Stupefy!_" as she did so, hoping to be able to adjust her aim in the process of turning.

The streak of red light from her wand flew into empty space. He wasn't there.

"_Expelliarmus!_" Her wand flew from her hand and she realised with horror that he'd simply Apparated _backwards_ a few feet, and that the eye movement had been a feint. She didn't have time to duck, Apparate, or even curse herself for falling for a sucker ploy before an Impediment Jinx sent her crashing to the ground. She struggled against what felt like invisible ropes binding her as Robards walked slowly over and pointed his wand at her throat.

"Good fight, Miss Tonks," he said, nodding. "Better than average, actually. You'll do fine when we've trained you up a bit. But my win – and my point made, I think."

-----

_Wednesday August 12__th__ 1994_

A rustling sound among the assembled volunteers brought Tonks' attention back to the hall. Crouch's lecture had finally come to an end. Tonks was surprised to find, when she looked at her watch guiltily, that he'd actually been talking for nearly three-quarters of an hour. She would have asked Rhiannon Davies what he'd said, but she seemed to be coming out of a coma as well.

The remainder of the morning session was equally uninspiring. A much needed coffee break was followed by a hectoring lecture from the man named Bradley, warning the assembled company that they must not only stay well clear of the action themselves, but also prevent any interference with the play from the crowd, or indeed anyone or anything associated with the Bulgarian or Irish teams.

The speech was slightly enlivened by a number of tales of dirty tricks from Quidditch matches of the past. Tonks was astonished to learn that the manager of the legendary Hungarian team of the 1770s, an equally legendary former Seeker, had later confessed that he had regularly spotted the Snitch from the sidelines early in the game and cast an Invisibility Spell on it, to prevent it being caught until his superb Chasers had run up an unassailable lead – a tactic that had led directly to the modern, highly charm-resistant version. Unfortunately, this information was delivered in such a flat monotone it was almost as boring as listening to Crouch.

When they reconvened after lunch, they discovered that Bradley, Crouch, and (Tonks was sorry to see) Ludo Bagman had taken their leave. The only ones left at the front of the hall were Robards and a small group of wizards and witches who seemed to be under his direct command.

Robards tapped on the lectern to call the meeting to order. He looked and spoke exactly as Tonks remembered him. "Right, everyone," he said. "You've heard this morning what we're all supposed to be doing this _for_. Now, the practical bit. In general, all you do is watch out for trouble and stop it if you find any. Simple enough, right?" He half-smiled at the rolling of eyes in the audience.

"We've arranged for each team to have someone experienced in charge – an Auror, a senior official, a veteran member of the Law Enforcement Patrol, whoever. There are also a group of supervisors. Everybody gets identification badges saying who they are. If at any point you don't know what to do, ask the most senior person you can find."

He talked for a while about chains of command, legal uses of force, and emergency procedures. It wasn't so bad; Tonks was used to his style after three years training; and even if she hadn't been, it marked a definite improvement on the morning lectures. At least it was mercifully clear and he didn't waste words.

"Right," he said after a while, with a gesture to his companions. "Now we'll get you into your teams. I'll read out the list – when you hear your name, come up to the front and one of my team here will tell you what to do. We've assigned you to duties according to your experience."

Tonks exchanged a nervous look with Rhiannon Davies. She really hoped that she'd managed to get them onto the same team. She didn't have too long to wait, as the list seemed to be arranged in alphabetical order of team leader.

"... Team eight. Team Leader: Rhiannon Davies, Auror. Team members: William Poppleford, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Chesney Thompson, research assistant to the Committee on Experimental Charms. Nymphadora Tonks, Auror."

Tonks breathed a silent sigh of relief and accompanied her new Team Leader to the front of the hall, where they introduced themselves to the two wizards who would be joining them. Poppleford turned out to be a burly middle-aged wizard with thinning hair and a ruddy complexion; he nodded politely. Thompson was a much thinner man in his twenties, with an apparently irrepressible grin; he winked at them. He might almost have been Bagman's younger brother ... or at any rate, a not too distant relative.

Robards' man coughed to draw their attention. "Very well, Miss Davies, your team have been assigned to watch over the campsite on the weekend before the match, so none of you will have to miss more than a day of your normal work before the Final starts." He paused with a resigned look as Thompson booed jokingly. "Once the match is in progress, you are required to remain on duty in the stadium as long as the game lasts. We've drawn up rotas to cater for an extended match – it went on for five days last time – so you'll be doing shifts of six hours on duty, six hours off. You're on duty for the first shift." He handed them each a sheaf of parchment. "You need to read _and understand_ these ground rules. Your team leader will be responsible for training you in anything else you need to know. Any questions?"

"Yes," said Thompson. "Are we supposed to meet beforehand to practice, then?"

"That's up to your team leader. But it's highly recommended, as we've already told her. Anything else?"

"What do we do if these Aurors have to leave?" asked the stocky wizard. "Fend for ourselves?"

"Check in with the nearest supervisor or team leader. If there's a pitch invasion or something – and I really hope there won't be – they'll be responsible for tactical matters. We –" he pointed to an official badge on his robes "– are responsible for overall organisation. Supervisors and team leaders take direction from us. OK?"

They looked at each other and shrugged. "I suppose so," said Poppleford.

"Right. Over to you then, Miss Davies." He nodded at Rhiannon and went back to collect another team.

Rhiannon Davies surveyed her team with a slightly nervous expression. "Very well, team, I don't think there's too much to discuss now," she said. "We haven't been given any very complex duties, look you. Just try to make sure people don't get out of order. Oh, and it's a Muggle campsite, so it's important to warn anyone you see who isn't behaving the Muggle way. At the match – well, keep an eye out for trouble, but I don't suppose anyone's going to say anything if you watch the play too. OK?"

"_Do_ we meet up?" asked Thompson with a glance at the others.

"Ah. Yes. Probably a good idea. Do you fellows work regular hours?"

The two wizards exchanged glances. "Most of the time," said Poppleford.

"Pretty much," agreed Thompson.

"Oh, right. Let's say this Saturday afternoon at two o'clock, then? Sort out the details of what we'll be doing, then maybe we can all go for a drink, get to know each other, call it a team-building exercise?" They nodded; Rhiannon looked heartened. "Great. I'll send a memo round to confirm the details. OK, I'll see you later!"

All over the hall, people were beginning to wander off. Thompson winked at them once more. "I don't suppose anyone will mind if I slip off home now?" he said. "Look forward to meeting you all again." As he and Poppleford joined the stream of volunteers leaving the hall, Rhiannon Davies looked at Tonks with relief.

"Glad _that's_ over. I really should have prepared a proper pep talk for them, I suppose, but ... oh you know how it is, I was busy. Let's go."

As they strolled over to the door, she asked, "By the way, what _did_ you do in Robards' class?"

Tonks gave her a brief explanation, making Davies giggle. "You _idiot_," she said. "I had enough sense not to stick my neck out. It wasn't Robards then, old Bruno Featherstone was doing them before he got promoted."

"He did a few of ours," said Tonks with a shudder. "The more ... extreme ones. How did yours go?"

"Oh, Featherstone flattened some poor sod called Davey Wickham who thought he was really good at duelling. Needless to say, he wasn't."

"I wonder if anyone ever won one of those duels?" mused Tonks as they reached the door.

"Only once." Both women's heads jerked round at this, to see Robards looking at them with amusement. "Miss Tonks, isn't it? It's a sort of tradition in the Department to demonstrate basic combat skills against some hapless recruit. We tell the trainees they can use anything they like in the fight, they almost always make the mistake of using a lot of complex spells. Best to be sparing with those, unless you're really powerful or experienced. Much better to concentrate on doing the basics well. You missed a simple trick as well, as I recall."

Tonks cast her mind back to the subsequent part of the lesson where the class had examined the tactics used. "I did? You mean _Remansio_?"

"Yes. Basic Anti-Disapparation Jinx – if you make one of those stick, you've got a big advantage. The trainee who won managed to bring that one off. I didn't tell you then, but you also had the right idea trying to shock me with a pretty Dark spell. You just didn't take it far enough."

"Not _far_ enough?"

"The one who won started to shout '_Avada ..._' at the tutor. He was so shocked, he reacted according to _his_ training, and made a desperate dive out of the way without thinking. It was a bluff of course, but it worked. Left the instructor wide open for a Stunner – although even he agreed afterwards that it was good thinking for a trainee."

Tonks raised her eyebrows. So did Rhiannon Davies. "Who was the one who won? Do we know him?"

He gave them a slightly twisted smile as he walked out the door. "Yes," he said. "Fellow by the name of Robards."


	7. Make Me An Offer

**6. Make Me An Offer**

_Thursday August 13__th__ 1994_

Diagon Alley was its usual packed self the following lunchtime. Tonks strolled casually past all the places she knew well – Gringotts, Flourish and Blotts, Florean Fortescue's – as did a cosmopolitan crowd that again contained hundreds of foreign wizards taking in the sights before the World Cup started.

In her role as Beatrice Easton, Tonks felt as much a stranger among the familiar landmarks as any of them.

She edged her way through the jostling crowds towards the Transfigured Toad, a place of which she'd seen more in a short time than she'd ever really wanted. She could feel her heart beating rapidly, and was annoyed to notice that she felt far more nervous than on the previous occasions she'd visited. _Probably because I'm not just making it up as I go along this time_, she decided. _I'm supposed to be a real person, not just a character of my own invention._

She hesitated for a moment outside the familiar door; as she glanced up at the sign, the figures seemed (doubtless only to her currently overactive imagination) to be gazing at her with curled lips. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Cassius, waiting to follow the man she was meeting when they came out the pub (and handily placed if she needed any backup, should it come to that). She shook herself briefly, gathered her wits and stepped though the door.

The landlord nodded at her in recognition as she approached the bar, barely troubling to take a slightly derisive expression off his face. "Ah, good afternoon, madam," he said. "Pumpkin and tomato juices with tonic and a dash of lime, wasn't it?"

"Yes, please," said Tonks. _Good. He recognises me – or rather, he recognises _her_. First obstacle successfully negotiated._ She watched carefully as he mixed the drink – the Toad wasn't the kind of place where you wanted to consume anything if you hadn't seen it being made. She handed over some Sickles and Knuts and took it over to a vacant table, where she surreptitiously prodded it with the poison tester from her knife. Fortunately, it was perfectly drinkable – or at any rate, not poisoned.

She sipped at it gingerly; she'd actually had to practice drinking the revolting concoction Beatrice Easton favoured without grimacing. At least it wasn't alcoholic, and therefore wouldn't prevent her keeping a clear head. It wasn't too bad once you got used to it, apart from the taste of course.

She glanced around with a nervous expression; partly because that was what Mrs Easton would have done, and partly because, well, she was nervous. The pub was not especially crowded today, but the few patrons there looked as dubious as ever. She fought back an urge to look back at them in challenge when they stared at her – that _definitely_ wasn't what her alter ego would have done. Judging from her behaviour over the last few days, it was more likely she'd only just have managed to avoid bursting into tears.

The doors opened and a wizard stood framed in the doorway; Tonks couldn't make out his face, especially as he had the light behind him, but her heart-rate increased again – that _had_ to be her contact. She put on a relieved expression as he walked over to her table.

"Here to meet me, I presume?" His tone of voice still had the slight mockery that she remembered from listening through the partition the previous week; it put her back up, but she smiled tremulously and nodded. The wizard jerked his head towards one of the alcoves and strode off, Tonks following. She noticed that he didn't bother casting a privacy charm as they settled into the seats. Evidently her guess about the landlord had been right.

Tonks studied his face as closely as she could, given that she was supposed to have met him on several previous occasions. Most of it was hidden behind a thin scarf that made him look like some kind of bandit (which on reflection, he probably was). All that was really visible was his eyes, greyish-blue and not at all distinctive, and a suggestion of an unshaven lower chin and neck. Apparently he regularly concealed his features like this, even when browsing among the more dubious sections of Lore of Yore; Beatrice hadn't seen any more than Tonks could. She suspected, now that she saw him close up, that the scarf must be charmed not to slip from his face.

The wizard chuckled at her. "Did it work then?" he asked.

"Well ... sort of," said Tonks tentatively. "I mean ... he was very ... very kind to me last time he came home. I think ... maybe it helped. I don't know." She mentally patted herself on the back for the way she said this. _Good! Sounds _just_ like the way she stumbles over her words when she's nervous._

Her companion snorted. "You'll be wanting more then, I suppose?" He reached into a pocket in his robes and pulled out a pink bottle. "There's about ten doses there. Proper stuff, of course, not the rubbish they sell in Diagon Alley. Twenty Galleons to you. Fair enough?"

Tonks looked at the bottle hesitantly. She actually _had_ been given a reasonable budget this time (despite the reluctance of the Department's financial wizards), but even if that _was_ Amortentia in the bottle, trading in it wasn't illegal, despite anything she'd said to Beatrice Easton. She wanted more concrete results if she could. "Are ... are you sure it'll work? He travels a lot, I don't know ... will it last?"

The wizard gazed at her thoughtfully; he had to know that what she had just said was nonsensical if he knew anything at all about powerful potions, but then _Beatrice Easton_ clearly didn't, given that she'd got herself into this position. "How often can you give it to him?"

Tonks dropped her eyes quickly to avoid giving anything away. Fortunately, that was in character. "Oh ... only when he's home, really. He goes away a lot." That was true enough, and if this wizard really knew anything about Love Potions, he would know that they would be ineffective under those circumstances. The interesting question was whether he would say so or not; his reply would be a good indication what he was most interested in selling.

He took his time before answering. "Lasts a day maybe, two if you're _really_ lucky. Not more," he said slowly. "How long does he stay away for?"

"A week, sometimes," said Tonks in a dejected voice. "He's a … salesman." At least Mrs Easton hadn't been foolish enough to tell this wizard identifying details about herself, and it wasn't a good idea to start now. She stuck her chin up and said in a slightly more defiant voice, "He prefers to stay near to where he's working. Easier access." Again, she hoped the wizard might interpret this line correctly (or rather _incorrectly_, in the way she wanted it interpreted) as being nothing but bravado. Even if Bobby Easton couldn't Apparate, his house was connected to the Floo network, so there was no really convincing reason why he couldn't come home every night if he wanted to.

It seemed to work; he sniggered behind his scarf. "Right, love," he said. "You've got a bit of a problem then. Look, you seem to want hubby kept in line. How badly?"

_Ah! The Snitch might just be about to appear ... OK, this bit _definitely_ needs to sound like I'm desperate enough to not be thinking clearly._ "I ... er ... I really ..." – Tonks made a noise like a suppressed sob – "It ... I just thought if I could ... change his routine, you know, so hegotusedtocomingbackhome." She gabbled the last few words, running them together as if she didn't want to admit to her companion what a mess her home life was. She thought it sounded quite artistic.

"Well, you know what I said last time."

_I do?_ Beatrice had obviously been ashamed by that and reluctant to go into detail,. She was going to have to bluff. "Oh, er ... that funny stuff? It's not ... it's not _dangerous_, is it?"

"Nah," he said patiently. "Used it myself once. Might be a bit iffy if you keep using it for six months straight, but I don't suppose you've got that kind of money anyway, have you?" The mockery was back in his voice.

"No." Tonks dropped her eyes again and hung her head. She wasn't necessarily expecting a discount to be offered this time, but she did want to see what he would do.

"How much would you be willing to pay?" Tonks jerked her head up in surprise. Did he _really_ expect her to be foolish enough to tell him that? _Yes, he probably does._ "I'm ... I'm not sure," she stammered. "I – I – I mean, wh ... what _exactly_ does it do?"

The wizard looked at her with narrowed eyes. "Gives you control over somebody you give it to, like I told you," he said in an irritated tone.

_We have a catch! A hundred and fifty!_ "Com – _complete_ control?"

"Pretty much, yeah. Interested?"

"I ... well ... er ... how much?"

He looked her up and down in a contemplative manner; Tonks flushed and looked away, a reaction she was sure would have been common to both herself and her model. "More than the other stuff. A _lot_ more. Fifteen Galleons a dose. If I can get it. Don't often see it for sale round here."

_15 Galleons? _That wasn't much less than the 20 the Departmental crib sheet had mentioned as a street price; she was prepared to bet he'd come down a bit – maybe a lot. She let her face fall, a ploy she'd found useful in her trips down Knockturn Alley when she wanted an excuse not to buy. "Oh ... oh dear. I couldn't afford that. I was hoping you'd say ... well, I don't know, five Galleons maybe."

"_Five_ Galleons?" The wizard snorted loudly. "You're having a laugh, aren't you? Do you think this stuff grows on trees?"

"But I'd need ... well, quite a lot of it, wouldn't I? Every couple of days?"

He considered her in appraisal. "So you are interested then ... how does twelve sound to you?"

Tonks gulped. _Would Beatrice try to beat him down? Maybe. She's probably used to it in the markets, after all._ "E – e – eight?" she said, hoping she sounded like a woman trying, but failing, to keep her voice steady.

The wizard shook his head. "Ten. Final offer, provided you buy at least – oh, let's say fifteen doses. With a bit of luck that could last you over a month, and if you haven't got your old man where you want him by then, you've really got problems. Sure you want it?"

_What? You can supply _fifteendoses _to a _woman in a pub_? How much of the bloody stuff do you have in stock?_ She held her head up defiantly, then dropped it again. "I ... yes," she said in a small voice. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Right." He suddenly became very brisk and businesslike. "It'll take me a few days to get it. Meet me here Monday night, nine o'clock. Can you do that? What's hubby up to?"

"Oh ... yes." Tonks was slightly nonplussed by his abrupt change in manner now that the deal had been made. _Actually, can I? What _is_ her husband doing?_ "I think I can, er, get away. I'll say I'm at a ... Witches Institute meeting."

"Good." He looked at her over his scarf. "Will you be wanting the other stuff, then?"

"Oh ... no. I – I might, er, need the money." That sounded like a safe answer.

"Yeah, whatever," sneered the wizard. "Always handy for stock, I suppose. OK, let's go." He stood up abruptly, drew back the curtain on the alcove, and waved Tonks out first in an exaggeratedly gentlemanly fashion. She stumbled over her robes again as she left the alcove and nearly fell; the wizard caught her arm and set her straight; he exchanged glances with the barman and sniggered.

He briefly caught the eye of a man sitting at a table in a dark corner as they passed – unfortunately Tonks couldn't get a good look at him – and nodded in acknowledgement at some gesture he made. As they parted outside the pub, he waved at her in the same mocking fashion and walked away. As she stood blinking in the bright sunlight of Diagon Alley, she could see him head down Knockturn Alley again, with Cassius in tow.

Unfortunately, Mrs Easton had never learned to Apparate. With a sigh, Tonks headed towards the Floo station to return to base, hoping it wouldn't make her feel too queasy after the Easton Special she'd been forced to drink.

-----

A couple of hours later, Tonks put the finishing touches to her report on her lunchtime activities, signed it with a flourish, and sat back to look through the accumulated memos in her in-tray. One from Rhiannon Davies confirmed that the members of Team 8 should meet in the Ministry foyer at 2pm on Saturday, in preparation for a training session at Auror headquarters, and a drinking session at a venue to be determined. The daily bulletin had arrived while she was out, and proved to be as dull as ever. A flyer reiterating that tickets for the Ministry Hallowe'en Ball would go on sale on the first of September was more interesting; Tonks winced at the price, but as it sounded like a lot of fun she made up her mind to go if at all possible..

There were also a couple of more directly work-related items. One was from the Auror assigned to the stolen harpsichord case – this turned out to be Eleanor Finchley, the plump witch she'd met on her first day. She reported that she'd compiled a list of collectors known to have purchased expensive antiques of this kind, and placed it in the Auror confidential files, viewable via the WEB Access. She also suggested that since Farley's interrogation under Veritaserum had provided unexpected supporting evidence that Liquor of Jacmel was used in the theft, Tonks and Cassius should take a look at the list in case any of the names on it rang a bell.

Tonks read over the memo again with a slightly guilty feeling. She had to admit to herself that in the pressure of recent events, she'd forgotten completely about that use of the potion, and made a mental note to remind Cassius as soon as he came in.

At the bottom of the pile was a copy of the new form for recouping expenses, together with several sheets of associated instructions. Tonks groaned as she remembered that she _still_ hadn't got around to claiming her money back for the purchases from Lore of Yore, more than a fortnight ago. She reached into her desk drawer for the books, started to flick through the long-winded instructions; then decided she simply wasn't in the mood to fill out the form to the required level of bureaucratic detail. She gathered up both books and forms and tossed them all into a spare corner of her desk to deal with later.

Cassius arrived back at this point, and waved tiredly as he walked over to meet her. "You first, Tonks," he said. "Did you have any luck in the meeting?"

Tonks smiled to herself. _Just a bit, mate._ "Well, I couldn't see his face," she said, pretending to look forlorn. "And he offered me another bottle of Love Potion, but that's not illegal." Cassius grimaced. "Oh, and I placed an order for fifteen doses of some potion that gives you complete control of people. Other than that, nothing much happened really."

It took a few seconds for this statement to sink in past Cassius' obvious disappointment. _Three, two, one …_ "You did _what?_" he yelped.

"Got him to offer me Jacmel – or if it isn't, the Haitians should sue him for plagiarism," she said happily. "Reckon that's a result?"

A huge grin spread slowly across Cassius' face. "I think it might just qualify. Tell me more!"

Tonks did, briefly running through what had been said at the Transfigured Toad. "So, Monday's looking like a red-letter day, then," she concluded. "Always assuming he isn't lying through his teeth about being able to get the stuff, of course."

"I don't like this delay much," Cassius said, frowning. "If he has the potion to hand, it shouldn't take him _that_ long to get it. I'd say there's an excellent chance he's only a middleman or a reseller."

"Got to be a big step forward, though," said Tonks brightly. "What did he do after he left the pub? Talk to any suppliers? Looks like you've been chasing him around for a while."

Cassius snorted. "Yes, indeed. In the hottest part of the day. Next time, I wear thinner robes. And to my surprise, it turns out that I'm not as young as I was."

Tonks chuckled. "Yeah, right, I know. Pounding the beat is a young wizard's game. _Where did he go_, Cassius?"

"Down Knockturn Alley to start with – you probably saw that. Talked to people in several different shops. I made a list of which ones, but I couldn't get close enough to hear what they were saying. Then I had a bit of luck; when he came out one of them, I heard him call to someone – actually, I think it was your 'friend' in Wells' shop – that he'd be in the Transfigured Toad again for the next half an hour or so if anybody wanted him."

Cassius sat back, clearly enjoying telling his tale. "Anyway, he Disapparated, so I waited a minute or two and followed suit. When I got into the pub, he was deep in conversation with the landlord, but obviously, they stopped talking when I went up to the bar. I sat at one of the nearby tables, and kept looking at my watch as if I was expecting somebody, but they kept their voices down after that. Then the landlord pointed out somebody sitting in a corner, and he went and talked to them for a while. I _think_ gold changed hands when they parted, but I was standing outside by that point – I thought it would look far too suspicious if I waited until he left and then followed him."

"How did you see, then?" asked Tonks curiously. "The windows in that place are frosted. And covered in dust, come to think of it."

"One-way Transparency Charm on the door – useful little spell, I don't know if they teach it much nowadays," said Cassius with a trace of smugness. "Well, I suppose it _can_ be a bit obvious what you're up to when you use it. Unless, of course, you know the variation which makes it only visible – or rather invisible – for the person who cast the spell. One of those old Auror tricks of the trade that come with experience, you see."

"Cool!" said Tonks, considerably impressed.

"I thought so. Unfortunately, that pub's dark, and they were in the far corner, so even then I couldn't be sure exactly what they were doing. Anyway, the chap came out after a while, and then he toddled off along Diagon Alley and went down one of those little avenues that branch off from it." Tonks nodded; she knew quite a number of the side alleys by now. "I didn't dare follow him in straight away, not after he'd seen me at the pub, and unfortunately it's too crowded in the Alley at the moment to Transfigure your appearance without attracting far too much attention."

"Damn."

"My thought exactly. But luckily, it was one of those alleyways that lead into a little yard, and I could see him on the other side through the opening. He went into one of the buildings, but he Disapparated straight away when he came out so I lost him at that point." He grinned. "To be honest, I didn't mind as much as I should have. All that standing around was making my feet hurt."

"What was the building? Any idea?"

He shrugged. "Just a room available for hire, according to the notice on the door. Listed as being available for parties, meetings, and things like that. I took a look through the window; it was dark inside, but there didn't seem to be much in there apart from a bit of old furniture. I suppose that might have been what he was talking about in the corner of the pub."

"True. What about the other people he talked to? Should we be thinking about bringing them in for a 'chat' if they know who he is?"

Cassius smiled. "Not yet. Anyway, if he goes to the trouble of keeping his face hidden – and I think you're probably right about the charm, Tonks, I didn't see his scarf slip once in all the time I was following him – I don't imagine he generally gives out his real name to his contacts. Not many people do when they conduct business in that part of town."

"Fair enough," said Tonks with a touch of chagrin, leaning back against the desk. The sight of the books and forms in the corner reminded her of the harpsichord case memo. "Oh, by the way, that Eleanor Finchley woman wants us to look at a list she's drawn up. You know, people who might want a rare magic piano thingy and not be too fussy how their supplier got hold of it?"

"_Does_ she?" said Cassius. "Interesting. That's because of the hint in Farley's testimony when we interrogated him, I suppose?" From the way he said it, he obviously hadn't needed to be reminded. _Ah. Must be all that experience._ He chattered on, oblivious to her chagrined expression. "That was really quite a slice of luck, getting independent confirmation that we were right about Jacmel being used. I wasn't expecting much in the way of progress on that aspect of the case, to be honest. I wouldn't be surprised if the harpsichord is on the Continent or the other side of the Atlantic by now, would you?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much what I thought, too," said Tonks unblushingly. "Let's go and look at her list, shall we?"

-----

Fortunately, the WEB Access wasn't in use. Tonks tapped on the frame with her wand, and Gogol appeared right on cue.

"Hi there," she said, throwing herself into one of the chairs. "We were told there was a list of people who collect antique musical instruments recently added to the confidential Auror files? Can you bring it back for us?"

"Certainly, miss," he said. "Do you know who added it?"

"Eleanor Finchley."

"Ah yes, that will be easy. In fact, I remember it now." He tapped his wand on some filing cabinets at one side of the painting. Tonks watched in fascination as the document appeared instantly on the scroll; there were clearly some very powerful charms in action to make all this work. She performed the _Scriptorum corporalis_ spell a couple of times, and handed Cassius a copy of the list as he sank gratefully into the chair next to her with a rueful mutter about his feet.

"Now then," he said, running an eye down the list, "it looks like most of these people are foreigners – Continentals or American, just as I said. This sort of crime tends to be international. I'm sure Eleanor will be liaising with their law enforcement officials, but it's rare we ever catch anyone. Too many ways to smuggle things out, too many gaps between the Ministries for information to fall through."

"Didn't you used to know some of the Americans?" asked Tonks. "You don't have a favour or two you could call in by any chance?"

"Not really," said Cassius dubiously. "It was twenty-odd years ago. The chap I knew best – Bill Redderton - has just retired." He looked at the list again. "Not many locals on here. I don't suppose there can be many people with the money to indulge this sort of interest."

Tonks studied the list a bit more carefully, and felt her heart jump slightly. Most of the half-dozen names of wealthy British wizards were unknown to her, but one leapt out from the parchment.

"I see Lucius Malfoy is on the list," she said.

"Young Malfoy?" said Cassius in surprise. "I've never known quite what to make of him. We were as certain as we could be without actual proof that he was a Death Eater; but when we mopped up the suspects after You-Know-Who disappeared, he claimed to have been under Imperius. He passed all the tests, anyway, and as far as I know he's kept his nose clean since then. Lots of charity work and things like that. Blood purist, of course, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's a Dark wizard."

"I've never had any doubt that he is," said Tonks quietly.

Cassius looked at her curiously. "You know him, then?"

"He's my uncle." Seeing astonishment on her partner's face, she continued, "By marriage, anyway. My mother's sister, obviously. Actually, my aunt's bearable, although I wouldn't trust her not to have been a You-Know-Who supporter, but Malfoy ... he never made any secret of his views when talking to _family_."

"I see." Cassius visibly hesitated; it had been plain for some time to all concerned that Tonks' extended family was a touchy subject for her. "Even if he _is_ a Dark wizard – and we don't have any proof of that," he said carefully, "it doesn't follow that he's the one who placed _this_ order, you know. All it indicates is that he's known to have bought pieces on the open market. I mean, he's rich, and his wife's rich – he can probably afford it even if they're just for show."

"Yeah, and doesn't he know it," said Tonks spitefully. She shook herself; it wouldn't be good to start ranting about these things in front of Cassius again. "Who are the rest of them? They don't ring any bells for me."

Cassius threw her a look, but answered readily enough. "Well, I've never heard of Archibald Blackstock, or Tarquin Finch-Fletchley either – good lord, it says he's a _Muggle_, no wonder."

"He's a _what_?" Tonks raised her eyebrows. "What would he do with a magical piano – sorry, harpsichord? Where would he ever see one anyway?"

Cassius shrugged. "I suppose he could keep it hidden, or say it was controlled by one of those, er, copmeter things. Must have a wizarding relation." He snickered. "And a fortune big enough to survive the rather poor exchange rates the goblins offer when converting pounds into Galleons."

He looked at the list again and chuckled. "Ah, Auchtermuchty and Strathnaver Kinross ... I've known those two since I was young. They're brothers, members of an old Scottish wizarding family, extremely rich – I believe their ancestors were once lairds. Always absolutely hated each other, very competitive; I imagine if one of them started collecting the other _would _try to outdo him." He shook his head at Tonks' look of inquiry. "I seriously doubt they would ever get involved with criminals, though, they always had too much concern for the Honour of the Kinrosses."

"Who's this last one, then?" asked Tonks.

"Francis Bletchley? I don't know the first name, but I do know the family name. Another old family, I believe they're something like third cousins of mine." He smiled at her. "Well, come to think of it, I suppose most people from the old families are. You'd probably turn out to be my great-great-great-niece or something if we ever bothered to look it up."

Tonks grinned back. "OK, Uncle Cassius. So, nothing much to report to Miss Ellie Finchley then?"

"Mrs. But no, I don't think there is, not unless any of the names come up in connection with the case." He looked at the painting again. "You could take a look through the rogue's gallery on here to see if you can spot our potion seller, but did you see enough of him to tell?"

"Probably not. Mr Gogol, could you show me recent pictures of people with a known criminal record for selling illegal potions or ingredients?"

"Certainly, miss." He disappeared for a moment or two and supplied a stack of wizarding photographs, but although a few of them were recognisable to Tonks from Knockturn Alley, none reminded her of the wizard she'd just met. She shrugged.

"Worth a try, I suppose. Of course, he may not have a record. It's difficult to tell without the scarf."

"I could show you just pictures of young men with face scarves, miss?" said Gogol helpfully.

"Yes, OK." This was much shorter pile, and the faces didn't ring any bells for Tonks either, although something was nagging at the back of her mind.

"No luck?" asked Cassius.

"No, I don't recognise th – _oh_."

"Yes?"

Tonks turned to the portrait. "Mr Gogol, how did you do that?"

"I beg your pardon, miss?" said the searchwizard in confusion.

"How did you find pictures of wizards in scarves particularly? Are they, um, indexed by content or something?"

"Not really, miss, but remember, even as a portrait I retain my original abilities to recognise things in pictures." He sounded slightly hurt. "Of course, the additional spells on this painting mean that I can search much faster than I could bef–"

Tonks cut him off. "So you could search for pictures matching a certain description, without it having to be catalogued in advance?"

"Yes, miss, we can, although you'll need to give us some idea of where to look," said Gogol happily. "We do keep _some_ record of what's in a picture, but we can't tell if it's exactly what you're looking for, of course."

Tonks glanced at Cassius, who was looking puzzled. "Great! Look, if we show you something, can you find – oh, I don't know, pictures that look like it?"

"I can certainly try, miss."

With a muttered "excuse me" to a startled Cassius, Tonks dashed off to find Cornworthy, skidding to a halt next to his cubicle and knocking a pile a papers over with her elbow. He made a quick dive to catch them; a few weeks of Tonks' presence had been quite enough to alert the rest of the Aurors that they might need to practice instant damage control whenever she was around.

"Sorry!" she said. "Arnie, can I borrow your Image Projector?"

"Erm ... I suppose so," he said, somewhat nonplussed. "What for?"

"I want to search for that blonde woman Farley saw on the WEB thing."

"Oh." He raised his eyebrows. "We could have tried that, I suppose, but you do know it doesn't give good results when you're trying to make identifications?" He looked at Tonks gloomily. "We've tried it before, never had much luck. There are plenty of pictures in the Hall, of course, but the searchwizards can't say definitely if it's a particular person unless they knew them _before_ they were a painting. And that's always assuming it's her real appearance. Like I said, she did seem a bit too good to be true."

Tonks wasn't in a pessimistic mood. "Yeah, but we've got Cassius, haven't we? He thought he knew her. All Gogol has got to do is find someone _Cassius_ thinks he recognises and we're laughing, aren't we?"

"Well, I suppose ..." he said doubtfully. At any rate, he passed her the recorder without further objection. She thanked him and returned to Cassius, rather more slowly and carefully this time.

She tapped the gadget a few times with her wand until the picture of the woman Farley had seen came up. "OK, this is her," she said to Gogol. "Can you dig out any pictures with people who look a bit like her?" Cassius looked at Tonks with some disgruntlement. Apparently this approach hadn't occurred to him either.

The painted wizard pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Yes, miss, but I don't suppose you can tell me where to look to narrow it down a bit?" he said. "I can search for pictures of young blonde women who resemble this one – quite happy to, in fact – but there must be an awful lot of them in the archives. Thousands, I'd say."

"Cassius?" said Tonks. "Any suggestions?"

He blinked and came out of a reverie. "Oh, er, yes. You might start by looking in the _Daily Prophet_ and other wizarding press over the last five years or so. Most likely it would be in connection with some social function in the North or the Midlands. Can you just bring back a selection of pictures for us to look at while you go and find some more?"

"No problem, sir," said Gogol, who had obviously been one of those librarians who delight in being given a challenge. He reached for a bound volume of _Daily Prophets_ on one of the shelves in the picture itself, flipping through them at such a speed Tonks realised it _had_ to be due to the magical enhancement. He tapped a number of pages with his wand, and gradually a stack of pictures appeared on the table next to him. When it had reached a height of about a foot, he brought them back to the foreground of the painting

"Just take a look through these, sir." He fixed the first one into the scroll, and disappeared again into the depths of the Hall of Records.

Cassius and Tonks went through the set of pictures carefully, but as far as they could tell none of them appeared to be the woman they were looking for. However, by the time they'd reached the bottom of the pile, Gogol was back with another stack, and soon after yet another. It was half-way through the fifth pile that Cassius let out a cry of triumph.

"_Ha!_" He enlarged the picture currently being displayed, a group portrait of some kind of formal dinner party, and pointed to a woman in the second row. "_That's_ her! I'm sure of it!"

Tonks looked closely at the woman's picture and compared it with the one on Cornworthy's Image Projector. "It does look like her, doesn't it?" she said, with mounting excitement. "Who is she?"

Cassius read the details off the accompanying caption. "Portia Blackstock, daughter of ... _Archibald and Vanessa Blackstock_," he said.

"_Blackstock?_" cried Tonks.

"Blackstock. Daughter of _Archibald_ Blackstock. Well." They exchanged almost awed glances. "That's all it says, but I'm practically _sure_ that's the young woman I've seen before. Mr Gogol!"

The searchwizard's head popped into view from behind a shelf. "Yes?"

"Can you cross-reference your search with the name Portia Blackstock?"

"Of course, sir!" He vanished again, returning in short order with another pile of papers. Tonks flicked through and pointed out one of them.

"Look!" It was another photograph, of the attendees at another formal dinner on behalf of a charity to assist distressed Muggle-borns and half-bloods who had fallen on hard times, dated a few years before. Portia Blackstock was there with her parents, in the front row this time, and near one end of the third row of the photograph was a wizard who was unmistakeably Cassius. Tonks performed the copying spell and Cassius picked up the printed report and read it carefully.

"This is definitely it, Tonks," he said, with growing conviction. "I can remember this dinner now. My wife Emily – that's her next to me – was a strong supporter of this charity, and this was their big annual fundraising occasion." Tonks looked more closely at the woman next to Cassius in the picture. Yes, she remembered her from the photos in Cassius' cubicle, although surprisingly in this photograph she looked older than him.

His brows knit. "It was up in Birmingham – yes, look, it says so here. They hired a room for the evening at a local hall and brought in house-elves to wait on the tables. This Miss Blackstock, let me think – she was on my table, opposite side, about three seats down. Her parents were some sort of bigwigs in the local magical community."

"What was she like?" asked Tonks with interest.

"Well, now I think of it," said Cassius reflectively, "she appeared to be quite a _nice_ girl. I remember her as chatting away quite pleasantly to everyone all night. I'd never have pictured her in somewhere like the Transfigured Toad, let alone doing something like this."

Tonks coughed. "You wouldn't be letting her … um, appearance influence you, would you?"

Cassius looked annoyed, but only for a moment. "Well, I might be, I suppose. Not that _seeming_ decent necessarily means a lot. Some of the nastiest villains I ever put away could be absolute charmers when they put their minds to it."

He turned to Gogol again and clapped his hands. "Mr Gogol. Please give me _everything_ you can find on the Blackstock family of Birmingham. Let's see if we can get to the bottom of this."

Gogol obliged, but unfortunately 'everything' in this case, while voluminous, turned out not to be very useful. Tonks skimmed through the results; the Blackstocks currently appeared almost exclusively in the commercial and social reports. They were _nouveau riche_; Archibald Blackstock's father having apparently been a Muggle-born wizard who had made a fairly sizeable amount of money, first as a supplier of cauldrons, robes and other miscellaneous paraphernalia, then as an inventor of handy gadgets.

The business was still going strong under the guidance of his son – who seemed to be attempting to live down the fact that he was a half-blood by involving himself in charitable work, the organisation of local events, and general largesse. He'd made it onto Finchley's list because he'd purchased an antique enchanted piano from a dealer for the use of his wife, who came from a good pure-blood family. There were no known underworld connections, although that was hardly conclusive.

Tonks looked sideways at Cassius. "_Well?_ Does this mean there's a link?"

"I don't know, Tonks," he said helplessly. "I ... I just don't know. I honestly didn't expect to get _anything_ from Eleanor's list, let alone a possible connection. It _could_ be pure coincidence of course – it's a small world – but we can't assume that, can we?"

"I suppose not." Tonks looked at the sheets of parchment; this was beginning to make her head hurt. "Are things always this confusing?" she asked plaintively. "I'm starting to think I should have stuck to something easier, like Flobberworm farming."

Cassius laughed. "Usually cases either turn out to be really easy – like when we talked to our friend Beatrice – or else you get absolutely nowhere, as I thought this one was going to. I suppose you just got lucky, Tonks, and got an interesting bean first pick out of the box."

"Lucky. Not sure that's _quite_ the word for it, mate. Interesting, yes."

"Oh, I don't know. More fun than spending your first couple of years on the job chasing anti-Muggle pranksters, wouldn't you say? That's what I was doing most of the time."

He selected a number of the references Gogol had found and ran off printed versions of them. "I'd better get these over to Donnacha and Arnold." He stood up, then paused for a moment with an odd expression on his face. "You know, it never occurred to me to use this thing to look for pictures? I might be getting past it after all."

"Cassius ..." began Tonks gently; but he just walked away, shoulders slumped.

-----

_Friday August 14__th__ 1994_

Cassius was already at his desk when Tonks arrived the following morning, although she took it as a good sign that he seemed to have cheered up a bit. He informed her that he'd spent some time going over all the information he had again, and prepared summaries of it for the benefit of themselves, Aurors on related cases, and the daily bulletin. Under the circumstances, Tonks decided the best course was to let well alone and not mention his parting words of the previous afternoon.

"Great," she said (in a voice that, she realised uncomfortably, sounded a shade too hearty). "Listen, I just dropped in to tell you I've got to floo down to Worthing again to tip off Mrs Easton what's going on. I'll see you later, OK?"

Cassius looked slightly disgruntled, and Tonks felt a twinge of guilt. She didn't want to give him the impression that she intended to take the investigation too much into her own hands, especially as she was well aware that she still had a hell of a lot to learn and knew that she needed him badly. "Er, I don't want to Floo in to her house directly or Apparate in case any Muggle neighbours are calling round. Fancy coming along for the ride? Make a trip of it, look around the town a bit?"

He visibly brightened. "Yes, actually. I feel like stretching my legs a bit. I've been sitting here for about three hours now."

_Three hours? Blimey, that was an early start. I hope you're not trying to prove anything, Cassius, because you don't need to as far as I'm concerned._ "Right then," she said with a smile. "You go first this time – then if I trip over the grate again you can catch me!"

Joking aside, Tonks didn't intend to embarrass herself by actually doing that. She took her own good time with the Floo preparations after Cassius had vanished into the fire in the Ministry foyer. She ignored the annoyed looks and muttered comments of the people standing in line behind her. After all, at this time of day, there were plenty of other fires available if they could be bothered to move ... She kept her eyes closed and elbows pressed tightly to her sides for the journey (wishing it had occurred to her to just Apparate to the station – she was fairly confident she remembered it well enough), and when she arrived allowed plenty of time to steady herself and regain her balance before looking down carefully at the grate and stepping over it.

"Good morning, Miss Tonks," said a cheerful voice that sounded vaguely familiar. "We really mustn't keep meeting like this. So nice to see you again, though."

Tonks looked up to see Angelica Hallendale smiling at her mischievously. "Weekend shopping again. I'm afraid my son isn't here today though for you to, er, fall for."

"Ah. No." Tonks reddened slightly at the implication, and hastily concealed the blush with a quick use of her Metamorphmagus talents. Cassius' mouth twitched in a way that suggested he understood exactly what she'd done.

"Mrs Hallendale was just telling me a little about herself," he said smoothly. "Did you know your ex-prefect friend isn't English?"

"He isn't?" Tonks raised her eyebrows.

"Not really, Miss Tonks," explained his mother, throwing Cassius a look of slight reproof. "I suppose he _is_ American by ancestry, but we've been here so long now that I think we're pretty well ... assimilated. In more than one way."

"Is that what your accent is, then?" asked Tonks with interest. "I couldn't quite place it. Your son didn't have one at all, as far as I could tell."

Mrs Hallendale looked at her with a curious expression that was half-annoyance, half wry smile. "You weren't supposed to notice that I did, either," she said. "I always try to fit in, even where I don't. And no, it's not American – although I guess most of the tutors I had as a kid were, so it might have rubbed off on me. I thought I'd managed to retain _some_ of my Latin complexion, at least, despite the weather here. Can't you tell?" She seemed a little put out.

_Aaagh. Why do I always seem to put my foot in it with this family?_ "Oh, that's where the dark hair comes from, is it?" she asked brightly, making a valiant recovery attempt. "South America, maybe?"

"Not quite," she replied, mollified. "Cuba, actually. We had very nice ... ah, family estates there. Before Mr Castro came along, that is, but I'd moved on by then, of course."

"Er, who?" said Tonks, bemused. Angelica Hallendale's jaw dropped slightly.

"Muggle president, took over in the fifties," put in Cassius hastily. He turned back to Angelica. "I suppose in that case. I ought to feel class solidarity with you, then," he joked. "I'm not sure if we've ever had a radical Ministry, but if we do, I don't think they'll need to expropriate us pure-bloods. We seem to be managing to die out quite well all by ourselves."

She smiled at him rather sadly. "You know, to an outsider like me, wizarding society always seemed to have a rather curious _inversion_ about it? I know when I first met it, it was quite a shock to go from being a privileged little lady to an unmentionable. But the _really_ odd thing was, there were _more_ people like you than people like me! I didn't notice at first – it was all too exciting! – but even some of the odd, seedy little people me and Hank had to deal with seemed to think they were better than us, just because their parents and grandparents had been wizards too. It's not quite so bad as it was here when ... well, that man was around, but it's a difficult world for an outsider to enter. But then, I would have been an outsider anywhere, I think. It seems to be my fate."

"Oh, I hope not," said Tonks, for whom those words stung. "You're quite welcome in our world as far as anyone decent is concerned." It took her a second to realise that the phrase 'our world' could in itself be construed as rather tactless. "I mean, look at Cassius here," she said in a desperate attempt to smooth things over. "He's as pure-blooded as anyone is these days, and he even puts up with _me_!"

Cassius smiled. "Well, she does test my tolerance to its limits sometimes," he joked. "I hope we haven't put you off, Mrs Hallendale. It makes a nice change to see a Muggle who knows about the magical world and isn't scared of us, but actually takes part in it as a member of the community. It's a rare thing."

Mrs Hallendale looked at him with an unreadable expression that eventually turned into a slight smile of her own. "I dare say I can't _help_ but be a part of it now. _That_ seems to be my fate too. To be honest with you, Mr Smethwyck ... I do sometimes miss where I grew up, and even more _how_ I grew up. It _was_ nice to be rich, from a privileged _hacendado_ family, with a father who owned _latifundias_, and shipping companies and factories and all sorts of other wonderful things that I never quite understood as a young girl ... although Montgomery does," she said with a fond smile. "But I suppose I wouldn't go back to that life now even if I could. Far too stifling, and I've seen enough of what life is like on the other side to feel just a _little_ bit ashamed of taking it all so casually. And although it doesn't seem that way sometimes, I probably would miss the magic. I mean, I _did_ run away from home with a wizard."

"Excellent taste, if I may say so," said Cassius with a mischievous look of his own.

"Why thank you, Mr Smethwyck, I do believe you're a gentleman," she said demurely. "Either that, or you're _not_ a gentleman and trying to flatter me for your own nefarious purposes, of course." It was Cassius' turn to blush; Tonks grinned at his discomfiture.

Angelica Hallendale turned to her with a surreptitious wink. "So what brings a couple of Aurors to our quiet little town twice in a week, then?" she asked lightly.

"Oh, nothing much, just a vitally important case," replied Tonks in the same vein. "I could tell you what it was, but then I'm afraid I'd have to _Obliviate_ you." Angelica laughed along with her at this, but there seemed to be a slight uneasiness behind the humour. Tonks realised that a statement like that, especially coming from an Auror, must sound like a real threat to a Muggle.

"So where's Montgomery today then?" she asked in an attempt to move the conversation onto more comfortable ground. "Didn't he need to be with you for you to get in here?" She groaned to herself even as she said it, realising that it too sounded heavy-handed. It seemed that _she_ was fated to say the wrong thing every time she spoke to Mrs Hallendale.

"Oh, I think I can manage to take a Portkey without a minder," she replied, with what Tonks was sure was a hint of coolness. "And you only need a ticket and the password to get through the door." She walked over to a table where an empty Coke can was standing, and picked it up, slightly more emphatically than might have been strictly necessary. "Montgomery is at work today – you know, shipments to organise, contracts to negotiate, orders to place. When you're the boss you can't always take time off to accompany your poor mother on her shopping trips."

She turned back to them. "Mind you," she continued with a twinkle in her eyes, "at least you remembered him. You know, I think he was quite taken with you too, Miss Tonks, now you're all grown up and _responsible_."

With evident enjoyment, she watched Tonks blush unmistakeably this time, as the Portkey activated and carried her away.

-----

"You've gone a bit quiet again, Cassius?"

"Sorry?" He looked round quickly at her question as they walked down the back streets of Worthing away from the Floo station. "What was that?"

"I said you'd gone a bit quiet, mate," she repeated. She looked at him and joined the morning's list of mischievous grins. "Our Muggle friend didn't touch a nerve when she said you might be a nefarious non-gentleman, by any chance?"

"No!" he said indignantly.

Tonks continued to grin at him expectantly. "What was it then? You did look a bit miffed. I thought you might fancy her."

"Tonks ..." he said reprovingly. He hesitated, then said with resignation, "Oh all right. It was ... just exactly the sort of thing Emily might have said. Oddly enough, Mrs Hallendale reminds me of her, just a little. It's a trifle … disconcerting."

Tonks glanced sideways at him. He certainly seemed a little ruffled. She remembered the photos on Cassius' cubicle walls, and frowned. "Hang on, your wife was blonde, wasn't she? She didn't look anything like Mrs Hallendale."

Cassius frowned at her. "I didn't mean that she _looked _like her," he said with a trace of irritation. "She just seems to have the same sort of personality. And ..." He looked away, staring at the houses on the opposite side of the street as if he wasn't really seeing them properly. "I miss her, Tonks. I _really_ miss her. I didn't know just how _much_ I would miss her until it happened. Talking with that woman was ... bittersweet, I suppose. It reminded me of the good times, and then that reminded me that I don't have them any more."

The houses in the street they were walking along had low walls separating the gardens from the pavement; he sat down heavily on one of them, and made a helpless gesture at her. "I don't suppose you'd understand, Tonks. Young people can't, really." He turned his head away swiftly, but Tonks was sure she could see a tear forming in his eye.

She looked at him awkwardly, feeling an unusually strong surge of sympathy. She hesitated for a moment, unsure of how he'd react – then sat down, put her arms around him, and hugged him. "Cassius," she said quietly. "I don't suppose I can understand exactly what you're feeling, no. But I can see it hurts you, mate. I can tell that you ... well, you put on a brave face for the rest of us and are always _terribly_ polite, but you don't seem to think that, er ..." _Oh hell. How did you manage to get yourself into a situation like this again, Little Miss Tactless?_ "You seem to imagine we don't think you should be here or something. Listen, mate, you're just fine by me. I don't know _how_ I'd have managed without your help."

He brushed something from his eye and turned to her with a very good attempt at his usual smile. "I'm glad to hear it. I'm sorry if I'm being maudlin."

"Hey, we're all entitled. You've listened to me on one of my rants before now, haven't you?"

"It's expected of age," he said wryly. He gently disentangled himself from Tonks, patted her hand in a gesture of thanks, and looked at his now slightly dishevelled robes. "We'd better not appear at Mrs Easton's door looking like this." He brushed the robes back into shape, then looked up at her again, apparently struggling to find the right words. "Thank you, Tonks. Again. You're ... you're being a pretty decent sort, young lady, you know that? When Scrimgeour said he was assigning you to me, he spent quite a bit of time talking up your 'special talents'. I had visions of some brash youngster who thought they knew it all. I must say I'm quite relieved with what I got." Finally, a smile was back on his face, even if it was a little hesitant.

Tonks breathed a silent sigh of relief. "That's OK," she said cheerfully. "Actually, when I started I was worried sick I might get assigned to some hard-nosed bugger who'd yell at me all day. Instead, I got someone who's like –" she nearly said _the old wizard grandfather I never had_, but realised, just in time to change tack, that this might sound like another insulting comment about his age "– the uncle I never had. Pretty cool, really."

"Hmm." Despite the fact that he still looked a little shaken, the twinkle was definitely back in his eye now. "Well, that's worrying. I'm supposed to keep you in line, not let you run around thinking I'm a soft touch." He looked at her sternly and wagged a finger at her. "Another word out of place and you're on report, young lady."

"Yes sir! How high shall I levitate myself, sir?" She saluted him, almost succeeding in keeping the grin off her face while she did so.

"Oh, shut up," he said, laughing.

They walked on into the street where the Eastons lived, still grinning companionably, and knocked at the door. It came as something of a shock to them both when it was thrown open, not by Beatrice Easton, but by a very angry-looking Bobby.

-----

Beatrice Easton was sitting in the lounge when they followed him in, nervously twisting a handkerchief around her fingers. She looked at them with mute pleading as Bobby Easton turned, planted his feet in front of the fireplace, and glared at them.

"What have you been saying to my wife, Aurors?" he snapped without preamble.

Tonks and Cassius exchanged awkward glances. This was something they hadn't been prepared for. In fact, they'd had no idea he knew anything about who they were

_Better strike back quick before he gets into his stride here._ "What has she been saying to _you_?" replied Tonks sharply. "You were asked not to tell anyone _anything_, Beatrice."

Beatrice Easton looked quite terrified, but her husband wasn't. "I don't care what you asked her," he said pugnaciously. "I've checked my rights! You had no authority to tell her what she could or couldn't do. Making us look bad with the neighbours! All she's done is buy a few items that might _possibly_ have fallen off the back of a broom – although I'm not conceding that they did – and you come round here and scare her half to death! It's not exactly an Auror-level thing, is it! What's the matter, run out of Dark Wizards to catch? Find it all too hard tracking down the real villains? Want to have a go at someone a little less dangerous?"

_Buy a few items that ... _what_ was that again exactly?_ It was clear from this that Bobby Easton really _didn't_ know what his wife had been up to. Tonks caught Cassius' eye again, and received the tiniest shake of the head from him: _leave this to me._

"You may perhaps have received the wrong impression, Mr Easton," he said smoothly. "It seems that your wife may inadvertently have been dealing with a supplier that we're taking an interest in. She was kind enough to offer to allow us to use her, erm, access in order to investigate."

"Access?" said Easton suspiciously. He glanced at his wife who nodded, frightened.

"Yes. You realise that what I am about to say relates to a criminal investigation, and everything told to you is in the strictest confidence?" _Ah, _g_ood approach, Cassius_, added Tonks mentally. _We'll find out where he got his leak from later._

"I suppose so. Get on with it." Easton's manners hadn't improved, but Tonks had an uneasy feeling that he did have wizarding law on his side. Unfortunately, it sounded like he'd obtained some legal advice, and therefore actually knew this. She made a mental note to dig out her textbooks when she had a spare moment and give herself a quick refresher course.

"Very well." Cassius paused, clearly trying to arrange his thoughts. "The fellow we're looking at seems to have quite a wide range of sales contacts. He's also known to deal in some rather dubious materials from time to time. We noticed while we had him under observation that your wife had purchased a few items from him, and when we asked her about it, she told us that they were a special offer on import. She was quite shocked when we explained to her that we were interested in him." Tonks managed to hide a smile; she noticed that Cassius hadn't actually lied to him.

"I'll say she's shocked," snapped Easton. "She was crying her bloody eyes out when I confronted her with it. Where do you get off on scaring my wife like that?" _I don't notice _you_ exactly being comforting, mate_, thought Tonks unkindly, but she had sense enough not to say so out loud.

"Well, I'm afraid we sometimes find that dealing with Aurors _can_ be frightening, especially for law-abiding individuals," Cassius continued soothingly. Tonks glanced at Beatrice Easton as he said this to see how she was taking it; her expression was partly sullen, partly panic-stricken, but as their eyes met she managed to convey a clear message: _please, just get me out of this without mentioning what I was doing, and I won't contradict anything you say to my husband!_ "And of course the people we deal with can be very alarming, as well. Your wife allowed us to use her identity in order to make contact with the fellow."

"_Identity?_" said Easton, with eyes bulging. "What do you mean, _identity_? What have you been doing to my wife?" His face had reddened alarmingly. It wasn't the moment, but an inappropriate thought flashed across Tonks' mind: _You won't be getting any mysterious owls in a feminine hand if you look like _that_, Bobby._

Cassius hastened to calm him down. "No, no, no, you misunderstand me, Mr Easton. My colleague here merely, er, took her place in one or two meetings with our quarry. She's quite good at Transfiguration, you see." _Well, that's one way of putting it. Probably a good idea not to let him know I'm a Metamorphmagus._

"Transfiguration? I thought she could just change her looks any time she wanted to?" _Always assuming, that is, that he doesn't already know._ Tonks saw Cassius' look of surprise and realised that this was something _else_ they'd have to ask how Easton knew about, once the conversation had calmed down a bit.

"Changing their looks is something any good Auror should be able to do, Mr Easton, although my colleague here is certainly very skilled at it," said Cassius evasively. "And you wouldn't want your wife to be meeting up with this chap herself, not now that she knows he's under investigation, would you? She could be at serious risk if he thought she might be working with us. You never can tell what these people might do when cornered, but they're none too scrupulous."

Easton looked somewhat appeased by this explanation. "Why didn't you tell me about this?" he barked, turning on his wife, who jumped. "What were you _buying_ from him that you couldn't get elsewhere anyway?"

"Oh, er, hellebore leaves and spine of lionfish, for some potions," she said quickly, in fact much more quickly than Tonks would have expected of her. She guessed that Beatrice must have realised that she was bound to be asked this question at some stage, and had spent most of the last few minutes coming up with a convincing answer – or one that would convince her husband, at any rate.

Easton banged his fist on the mantelpiece, and a well-thumbed copy of _Magical Me_ hidden behind an ornament fell off into the coal scuttle. "I _told_ you that I can get those sorts of things for you at a good price while I'm away!" he said in exasperation. "Why do you always have to go chasing after cheap offers? Don't I give you enough Galleons for the housekeeping or something?"

"You forget to bring them back sometimes," replied his wife in a low voice, with the beginnings of a mutinous expression on her face.

"Oh, so it's _my_ fault now that you can't keep track of what you need, is it? How many times ..."

Cassius coughed hastily, interrupting what might otherwise have developed into a fine marital row. "Anyway, Mrs Easton – and Mr Easton too of course – we just called round to let you know that we'll be continuing to work in this way for a little while yet. It's really very kind of you to allow us to do so."

Easton looked at him with distaste. "No you bloody won't," he said. "I'm not having your girl here prancing around pretending to be my wife, and putting both of us in danger. What happens if these people find out who we are? They could come round here to murder us in our beds!"

_Well, you'd probably be safe then_, thought Tonks. Easton's bombast was grating on her a little.

"It's all right, Bobby," put in his wife unexpectedly. "I don't mind. I never told him who I was, and if we can do anything to help, we should, shouldn't we? It sounds as if this is a dangerous man, and we don't want him to go free because of us, do we?" She spotted Tonks looking at her in surprise and gave her a very slight, tremulous smile, as if amazed at her own boldness. Tonks could almost have kissed her.

Easton looked disgruntled, but didn't seem to be able to find a retort without looking soft. "I suppose so," he said grumpily. "Just make sure that this doesn't come back to bite us, OK?"

"Certainly, sir," said Cassius. He made a slight gesture to Tonks to indicate that this would be a good time to make an exit, and they moved towards the front door with the Eastons following. "Oh by the way," he asked casually, "who told you we were Aurors? It can be a bit dangerous sometimes if people know who we are."

"None of your damn business," snapped Easton trenchantly. "If Beatrice here wants us to stick our necks out, that's one thing, but I'm not dragging anyone else we know into this. What do you think I am?"

_You don't want to know, mate._ Tonks would have been inclined to argue the point, but a very slight pressure on her arm from Cassius dissuaded her, and she muttered a few conventional words of goodbye and followed him out.

-----

"So why didn't you press him for the source of his information then?"

They were back at Auror HQ; Cassius having shushed all her attempts to ask questions while they were still in Worthing, saying that he didn't want to risk being overheard. It was highly frustrating.

"Because it's fairly obvious how he knew, isn't it?" he replied patiently.

Tonks shook her head. "Not to me, mate."

Cassius smiled. "Think about it. He knew we were Aurors, and he knew _you_ were a Metamorphmagus – or at any rate he knew what you could do as one. Then remember his comment about being embarrassed in front of the neighbours. How many of _them_ had those two pieces of information?"

Tonks looked at him in confusion for a moment until it dawned on her. "Oh _hell_. The Hallendales, you mean?"

"Has to be, doesn't it? There can't be _that_ many wizarding families in a place like Worthing – I'd say half a dozen in the entire area, as an absolute maximum, given the size of that Floo station. The Ministry must have spared every expense when they bought it." He chuckled. "They'd be bound to know each other and gossip when they met. I wouldn't be surprised if he met her there on his way back. He looks like the sort who would always talk to an attractive woman, on first principles."

Tonks raised her eyebrows. "So you did fancy her then!" she quipped. This got a scowl from her partner.

"We ought to check, of course," he continued, ignoring her remark. "And we haven't got too much time before you have to meet our bescarved friend again on Monday. Perhaps we could call on the Hallendales tomorrow? I know it's your day off and everything," he added apologetically, "but odd hours come with the job, I'm afraid."

"I'm not sure, mate," said Tonks regretfully. "I've got that World Cup security training thing to go to in the afternoon? I suppose I could tell Rhiannon that I might be late ..."

"Oh. Never mind then, you don't want to miss that. If anything goes wrong at the Final, we'll never hear the last of it from the _Prophet_. I'll just call round there by myself."

"Oh, so you _do_ want to see her again then." She smirked at him.

He crimsoned. "Stop it, Tonks! I ... I just don't object to working weekends, all right? I haven't got anything better to do, and I'd prefer to not be moping around the house. I'll let you know if I find out anything important." A smirk of his own spread slowly across his face. "Such as what her son thinks of you, perhaps? What was it she said, something like 'quite taken with you now you're all grown up'?" He laughed as Tonks crimsoned in turn. "You 'fancied' _him_ then?"

"Not particularly," said Tonks, recovering. "He was OK to look at, but he seemed a bit … oh I don't know, strait-laced? Anyway, I'm not in any particular rush at the moment."

"Love life in the pending tray?"

"Non-existent for the last few months, mate. First I was too busy with final exams, then I started this job. Put it like this, I'm willing to listen to suggestions, but I'm making no promises." She shrugged. "We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

"I've got a suggestion ..." came Williamson's amused voice, calling from the other side of the partition. Tonks groaned.

"So have I, Ben. _Sod off_," she called back. "I'll see you later, Cassius – I'm going to practise being Mrs Easton again. After all, if I don't get it right we'll never hear the last of it from Bobby, will we?"


	8. Have A Drink On Me

**7. Have A Drink On Me**

_Saturday August 15__th__ 1994_

The Ministry foyer was all but deserted on Saturday afternoon when Tonks Apparated in shortly after lunch. One or two weekend workers were making their way to the lifts, but otherwise the place was quieter than Tonks had ever seen it at the time of day.

A quick glance at her watch told her that she was early, and she took the time to have a good look around. When the main hall was crowded, as it usually was, it wasn't easy to appreciate the décor, but today she found herself marvelling at the ever-changing golden runes on the ceiling, the intricate likenesses of the Fountain of Magical Brethren, and the play of light on polished wood and gilded fireplace from the soft glow of the Floo fires. A small party of official-looking visitors were passing through, escorted by a smartly-dressed witch; they too seemed highly impressed, pointing to the sights and chattering to each other in Slavic accents.

A bored-looking security wizard carefully scrutinised her identification and registered her wand, apparently for the sole purpose of giving himself something to do.

"Auror, eh?" he said, clearly trying not to seem impressed. "Bit young for it, aren't you?"

"Sorry. I daresay I'll get older eventually, though?" Tonks kept her face as straight as possible, and resisted the temptation to age her appearance by fifty years by Metamorphosing. It would probably result in far too many tedious questions of the kind everyone seemed to ask when they found out what she could do.

"Oh yeah, I suppose you will." He grinned at her, seemingly pleased to have found someone to talk to and break the monotony. "In on the weekend for a case, then?"

"Nah, just a practice session for the World Cup security," said Tonks. "Are you in on that?"

"I got tickets, love," he said smugly. "Not the best in the house, mind, but I got them, and I don't have to work while I'm there."

"You don't seem to be working much while you're _here_," joked Tonks. "What do you do when it gets busy? You don't check _everyone_ in, do you?"

"Well, I only really have to do the ones who come in at the visitors' entrance," he confessed. "There's a bell which sounds when the lift's on the way down. Normally I just watch people come in, and if I need to, I can check who they are on the map in the control room." He jerked a thumb behind him.

"Map?" she asked curiously.

"Yeah, wanna take a look?" He brightened at the prospect of doing something other than sit there. "I'm not normally supposed to take people in there, but you being an Auror an' all ..."

Tonks looked around; there was no sign of any of her team. "Go on, then."

The watchwizard tapped his wand on the panelling behind him, and the faint outline of a door appeared, set discreetly into the wall. Tonks followed him into the small room behind it and gazed about her with interest. The walls were devoted to a number of large sheets of parchment on which maps of the building were drawn. They seemed to be slightly fuzzy at first glance, and it wasn't until she looked more closely that she noticed that there were little marked dots moving around on them.

"Hey, that's me!" she said, pointing to a dot marked _Nymphadora Tonks_. She rather wished it didn't show her full name. "And you're – Eric Munch, yeah?"

"That's me. To be honest, we don't use it much, but we've got most of the Ministry here. Cool, innit?"

"I'll say." Tonks had a vague recollection that maps like this had been mentioned somewhere in training, but she'd certainly never seen one before. Her eyes followed the dots with fascination. The Auror Office and its surrounding rooms seemed fairly empty – she could see Williamson and Benny Goldstein and that irritating bugger Shacklebolt, but no-one else she knew especially well. She spotted Ludo Bagman up in his office, accompanied by a number of people with unpronounceable names – quite likely the ones she'd just seen pass through. Presumably all the World Cup organisers were having to work weekends this close to the event, because Barty Crouch was in the building too, with his assistant Weasley. _Hang on, I thought he called him something else at the meeting? Oh well, I must have heard wrong._

Something Eric had said nagged at her for a moment until she got it. "Did you say this shows _most_ of the Ministry?" she asked, and when he nodded, continued "Why not all of it?"

Eric Munch grinned. "Well, old Fudgie didn't like the idea of being spied on, did he? Insisted on being left off when they made 'em up. Something about –" his voice took on a pompous tone "– 'the Minister must be allowed to meet with people in complete privacy in order to do his job properly'. Right, like he knows what he's doing anyway! And the Department of Mysteries kicked up a stink too – didn't even want any portraits down there to see what they were doing – so we don't watch that."

"No, I suppose not." Tonks mentally filed away this interesting piece of information about the Department of Mysteries in case it ever came in useful She glanced idly at the section showing the Atrium and noticed a new dot suddenly appear out of nowhere, which, when she looked more closely, was labelled _Rhiannon Davies_. "Hey, that's my cue, Eric," she said, casting a last regretful look around at the maps. "Thanks for showing me around, mate."

"Any time, love," he said. "Beats trying to do the _Daily Prophet_ crossword, anyway. Can't even get the 'easy' clues half the time, let alone the cryptics ..."

-----

Rhiannon Davies was slightly anxious when Tonks joined her. "I really hope this works out ..." she murmured, but didn't have time to expand upon the point as the other members of her team appeared at the far end of the hall. Tonks waved in their general direction and the two men strolled over to meet them, looking at Rhiannon inquiringly.

"Right then, Mr Thompson, Mr Poppleford," she said bracingly. "Look, can we all just call each other by our first names? I'm Rhiannon, this is Nym ... er, OK, maybe not all of us then; this is Tonks."

The two men looked surprised, then comprehension dawned on Thompson's face. "Oh, right. Not keen on the name 'Nymphadora'?"

"Not much," said Tonks, with a fixed sort of grin.

He chuckled. "Fair enough. I'll save it in case I ever want to tease you then. I don't know about Mr Poppleford here, but you can call me Chesney, or Ches if you like."

"Will's fine by me," said Poppleford with a shrug.

"Ah, good." Rhiannon shuffled her feet a bit; Tonks had a growing suspicion that she really _hadn't_ planned this out. "Right, er, Ches, Will, I think we'd better decide how we're going to split the duties, and then go over the plans for the day? I ought to see how good you chaps are with your wands." Chesney Thompson bit his lip, obviously struggling to keep a straight face; Rhiannon scowled in embarrassed realisation, but ploughed on regardless. "If we _do_ have any trouble we need to know how well you can cope with it. Anyway, er, yes, OK. Let's not hang around here, then. We'll sort something out up in Auror headquarters."

"Auror HQ, eh?" Thompson said to them with interest as they rode up to the second floor in the lift. "I don't think I've ever been in there. You won't have to hide any super-secret stuff then?"

Tonks snorted. "Yeah, right, we'll have to keep you away from the daily bulletins. They're our secret weapon. We threaten to make suspects read them and bore themselves to death." Rhiannon suddenly glanced at her with a frown as she said this, as if she'd only just realised that security _might_ actually be a problem, and Tonks lost her grin as it dawned on her that there probably _were_ a lot of things lying around on desks that weren't supposed to be seen by outsiders, not even other Ministry employees.

"Maybe we should find somewhere with a bit of room if we're going to practice anything?" she said brightly, attempting to recover her slip. Thinking of their first meeting with Thompson and Poppleford reminded her of one possible venue, which had looked more or less empty on the map. "Tell you what, the combat training hall should have plenty of free space today. I don't think it ever gets used much at weekends, except for a few people tuning up their advanced spellwork."

"Combat training?" asked Thompson with interest, glancing at the other man. "I could do with some of that. We spend most of our time developing new stuff, not going over things we know. Well, that and trying to work out how to stop people growing horns as a side-effect."

Tonks looked at the other wizard, who shrugged again. "All of us in RCMC have to train in basic combat spells, in case we need to deal with a dangerous creature. I'm probably rusty, though. For the last six months, I've been stuck behind a desk in the Goblin Liaison Office, trying to keep the little buggers sweet."

"Combat hall it is then," said Rhiannon with a quick smile at Tonks. She led them down the corridor and into the wide open space of the hall. Their luck was in; apart from a couple of wizards in one corner, apparently working on trying to cast Stunners accurately without looking directly at the target, the room was empty.

"OK," said Thompson, rubbing his hands. "Where do we start?"

Tonks and Rhiannon exchanged glances, and Tonks got an evil gleam in her eye as she remembered her own basic training. "Let's just do a quick test run to see how you shape up, shall we?" she said. "We won't do anything out of the ordinary – just Stunners, shield charms and the like. You can do ... well, anything you like, really, short of Dark Magic."

Rhiannon caught her mood. "Will, you're with me," she said innocently. "Ches, you and Tonks step over that way a bit, give yourselves a bit of room to manoeuvre, that's right. On a count of three then: one, two, _three!_"

Tonks was already casting a silent Shield Charm as Chesney Thompson brought his wand to bear. She still preferred to at least mutter the incantation when casting hexes, but she _was_ quite proud of her spell blocks. He cried "_Lingua Nodare!_" – an interesting choice – but the spell just bounced straight back at him, and he hastily dodged out of the way. Tonks' return-spell of _Stupefy_ was also dodged – she had to admit that she was quite impressed by his agility – but a Stunner of his own was easily deflected away.

Tonks glanced at Rhiannon, who had already disarmed Will Poppleford; he clearly hadn't been wrong when he described his technique as rusty. She mentally kicked herself for allowing herself to be distracted as Chesney shouted "_Abigo!_" at her. She still managed to block most of the effects, which prevented her from being thrown across the room, but it knocked her slightly off balance; and she had to duck and block a couple of spells before forcing him back onto the defensive with an Impediment Jinx. He got enough deflection on it to prevent it taking full effect, but it did trip him up; and with a mental sigh of relief – it would be _highly_ embarrassing to lose by not paying attention – she closed in for the kill. She could hear Rhiannon and Will laughing in the background.

"_Gravitari praepostere!_" He waved his wand with a slightly desperate air, and a peculiar-looking golden mist erupted from it. Caught slightly by surprise, Tonks attempted another block, but some of the mist leaked around her shield and touched her arms. With a dizzying sensation, she felt the world invert itself. Almost by instinct, rather than on any particular calculation, she crouched down on the ceiling – _no, the _floor_, what the ...?_ – in order to duck whatever the next spell heading her way was, then Apparated away with a twitch before she had to deal with another one.

Chesney didn't seem to have anticipated this manoeuvre, and mercifully, as he turned wildly this way and that to look for her, it gave her a chance to quickly get to her feet and allow her head to stop spinning. As he spotted her, she pointed her wand at him and spat out the incantations for a rapid-fire series of Stunners – it was definitely time to stop messing about – and this simple tactic proved effective. He ducked a couple, then blocked one, but the fourth hit him squarely in the chest and sent him crashing to the floor, out cold.

Tonks approached him, silently breathing a sigh of relief. She picked up his wand, then pointed her own at him. "_Enervate_," she said casually, as if she'd never once had an awkward moment during the fight. She actually felt extremely annoyed with herself for going easy at first and giving him a chance.

Chesney blinked a couple of times and looked up at her with a rueful expression.

"Too fast for me," he said, clambering to his feet gingerly and taking his wand from Tonks' outstretched hand. "Did my best, though. Hope we don't have to take on anyone as well trained as you two! I thought I might get you with something unusual, but I suppose you learn how to cope with all that quite easily?"

"Yeah, they always told us in training to keep it simple most of the time," replied Tonks, making _very_ sure that her face didn't give anything away. She glanced at Rhiannon. "What was the theory, again?"

"Er – you should be able to tell these gentlemen, Tonks," she said with slight alarm in her eyes. "You can't have forgotten your training this quickly?"

_Cheers, Team Leader._ "The basic idea is that the ... well, basics give you fallback techniques for coping with anything," she told him, racking her brains to remember the way Robards had phrased it. "You can't always tell what someone is going to cast at you, so you don't want to be wasting time thinking about the exact counter. Just get out of the way – Apparate if necessary – or put up a Shield Charm. That will block most incoming spells, at least partially, and the better you are at casting it, the more effective it is."

She realised that she was reciting, and slowed her voice down a bit: "Concentrate on a few offensive spells you know well to maximise your casting speed and power. They still have to be defended against. I was practically gabbling _Stupefy_ at you back there, because most of the effort and focus was mental. Reserve complex spellwork for mixing things up a bit to keep your opponent guessing – all right, I think you've probably already grasped that part – or for when you need to achieve some specific effect." _Like conjuring a physical shield if someone casts the Killing Curse at you_, she thought to herself, but didn't mention it. There was no point in alarming them.

"Ah," said Chesney with chagrin. "That makes sense. No fancy moves, then?"

"Not until you're a real expert. I mean, I've never seen that spell you cast before, but the basic stuff they drilled into us in training gave me a way to defend against it, even if there _is_ a specific counter-spell somewhere as well." _If you actually _become_ a real expert, you can pretty much do what you like, though, _she added mentally, _because the complex stuff will come just as naturally to you as anything else_. Robards had demonstrated some really neat uses of Transfiguration for combat purposes, although most of the class hadn't been able to use them half as successfully as he had.

She looked at him, curiosity fighting against a desire to project superiority. Curiosity won. "OK, Ches, I can understand the _idea_ behind a Tongue-Tying Jinx, at least, and Banishing was fine too, that's a good basic spell that works well in combat –" she looked at him appraisingly "– but what the hell _was_ that mist thing?"

Chesney sniggered. "Oh that. Just a little something we Experimental Charmers have been working on. The Committee were asked if they could develop it for use later this year. Couldn't resist trying it. To be honest, I've never actually cast the spell myself before. Did it work?" he finished eagerly.

"I don't know. Was it _meant_ to turn everything upside down?"

"_Yes!_" He pumped his fist, then looked slightly embarrassed as he realised what he was doing. "I mean, yes, that was the general idea."

"Cool." Tonks turned and looked at Rhiannon pointedly: _er, who's supposed to be running this session, Rhi?_

She caught the hint and said hastily, "Right, well, suppose we spend a bit of time going over your Shield Charms and basic hexes, then? You never know, you might need to break up a fight if the Irish and Bulgarians get drunk and start jinxing each other. Come to think of it, a bit of practice in _Finite Incantatem_ might not go amiss as well."

The next couple of hours were enjoyably spent in trying to bring their team up to speed. Chesney turned out to be quite useful, and even managed to successfully Stun or Disarm each of the Aurors once. Will Poppleford was unquestionably out of condition; but by the end of the session, his training was clearly starting to come back to him, and he wasn't as easy a mark as he'd been the first time they'd tried.

"Right, team," called Rhiannon eventually, exhausted but pleased. "That'll do for today. A bit more practice over the next week would come in handy for both of you fellows, but you'll do fine, I think. Send me a memo if you'd like me to book the Hall for you." She looked around. "Ches, have you _really_ not done any duelling before?"

He grinned. "Honest? I used to belong to a club when I was younger, but I let it slip. Never seem to find the spare time now."

She took a deep breath. "Oh, I see. Right, just a few notices before I forget. We're supposed to patrol in pairs when we get there – based on today, I think we'll go for Will and me, and Tonks and Chesney. We're on first shift inside the stadium, so with a bit of luck we'll get to see the whole of the match – er, that's when we're not keeping an eye on the crowd, of course."

She moved on hastily as the others grinned at her. "The Ministry will be providing accommodation starting from the weekend before the match – so, no problem for us if it _does_ go on a long time. There'll be an area set aside for tents for the security staff; I've had a look at them already, and they'll do fine – not luxurious, but they've got beds, a kitchen and a bathroom, all we'll really need for a few days camping out. Tonks, I'll share with you, obviously; er, you're OK to tell these two what to do if I need to disappear from time to time? Check orders and stuff?"

"Yeah, no problem, Rhi," said Tonks. _Stuff like visiting Donnacha in the posh tent that came with his ticket package, maybe?_ she thought, but out of solidarity, she didn't say it in front of the others.

"Great. Right, I think we deserve a drink after all that," said Rhiannon with relief. "Any suggestions for a venue?"

-----

"You know, Chesh ... Ches, I'm not _entirely_ sh ... sure this is a good idea?"

"Oh, don't be such a wuss, _Nymphadora_! Last one to Hogsmeade buys the next round!"

Tonks couldn't quite remember when the concept of turning the evening into a Round Britain Pub Crawl had cropped up. She was having a little trouble with her memory at this point, not to mention her sense of balance (always precarious at the best of times). She was pretty sure it couldn't have been earlier than the fourth round of drinks, though.

It didn't help that they were touring the country's wizarding pubs via the Floo Network, which always had a tendency to exacerbate any incipient queasiness felt by the traveller. Chesney's suggestion that the Aurors use their emergency Portkey-creation privileges had met with short shrift from Rhiannon, who had also firmly squashed the idea of Apparation, after their first movement from the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley to a small pub on the outskirts of Oxford had resulted in a twenty minute delay while they found each other again. Tonks had clinched the matter by remarking that in any case, she didn't want to end up leaving half her internal organs behind in a drunken splinch, nor clean up after anyone else who did.

Their grand tour had taken in Cardiff (at Rhiannon's insistence), Birmingham's Magical Market, a complete dive in Doncaster that Poppleford remembered from his younger days, and a small well-hidden village pub outside Ripon whose landlord had seemed relieved to get rid of them. Tonks vaguely recalled getting out at the wrong grate a couple of times, so there could well have been others.

Hogsmeade had seemed like the natural choice to round off the evening, but it meant the longest and most stomach-churning trip yet. Still, Tonks bristled at Chesney's challenge, threw yet another handful of powder into a fire, and somehow managed to emerge upright in the fireplace of the Three Broomsticks. It didn't last long, as Will Poppleford appeared immediately afterwards and sent her flying, but it was better than she had any right to expect in her current condition.

Chesney Thompson and the two Aurors found themselves a table as Poppleford weaved towards the bar to place an order. For a moment, Tonks couldn't quite work out who the hairy man waving at them from one corner in cheery recognition was, until the fact that he was about five feet taller than anyone else in the pub registered with her. She winced; if she'd managed to overlook the Hogwarts gamekeeper, she _really_ must have had too much to drink.

Chesney looked over at him blearily and gave him an uncertain wave in return. "Isn't that ... er, whatshisname? Haggard, from up at the school?"

"Must be," said Tonks, firmly ordering herself to get a grip on things despite the trouble she was having trying to focus. "Who else is that size?"

"A troll, maybe?" said Rhiannon with a giggle. "Hey, did you hear the one about the troll, the hag, and the leprechaun who all go into a bar ..."

"Drinks!" interrupted Chesney, as Poppleford staggered to a halt at the table bearing a tray. Tonks reached out to collect hers, and realised dimly that the glasses and their contents must have been charmed to stay in place. Surely there was no way that he could be carrying them upside-down like that otherwise?

"Did I hear you mention that giant bloke?" said Poppleford thickly. "Saw him last year, came up to the office with a vicious Hippogriff. Well, hard to miss, isn't he?"

The others laughed. It wasn't really a particularly great joke, but after the tenth round practically anything seemed a lot funnier. "Yeah, pretty much," said Chesney. "Sort of thing he'd like, didn't he have a ... have a fixture ... a thing about monsters?"

Will Poppleford snorted. "Heard he asked if he could get –" he paused to say the next word very slowly and carefully "– _chimaera_ eggs at one point. I should coco. Nobody in their right mind wants a ... one of those things. Not even Nathan bloody Arkwright, far as I know. Though I wouldn't be supissed ... surprised. He was never right in the head either."

"Nathan who?" said Tonks. She was sure she knew the name, but couldn't remember where from. _Another few of these, and I won't remember my _own _name_, she thought hazily.

"Cartwright. No, Arkwright. Er, I think. Sorry. One or the other. Had a private zoo, you see. Got his fingers burnt."

"You busted him, you mean?" asked Chesney.

Will giggled. "Nah. His pet busted out. Dragon. Put it in this rubbish cage, it melted the bars and got loose. Nearly ate him. Good riddance if it had. Silly sod."

"You did charge him though?" said Rhiannon. Her face had a puzzled expression, as if she could almost remember something important, but not quite.

"Yeah, we charged him." He grinned vacantly. "Beauty of a case that, Depar ... dep ... er, legend where I work. The boys went round to look, it scared the crap out of them. Bloody great monsters, shoddy little cages, a bunny rabbit could have bitten through them I reckon. Swore the bloke who sold 'em said they were top-rated stuff, he did. Swore at our blokes a lot too, when we took his pets away. Swore he'd get back at everybody who'd crossed him as well. Never did though. All mouth and no wand. Daft sod."

Rhiannon exchanged a bleary glance with Tonks, who dimly understood it to mean that all this had come up in her case somewhere, and that Poppleford had just said something that might potentially be interesting to her. She sighed, pulled out her wand, and pointed it unsteadily at her head: "_Nil temulentum_." It helped a little – but only a little. The major problem with the Sobriety Spell was that casting it effectively required that you be sober enough to concentrate on what you were doing, which rather defeated the object.

She closed her eyes for a moment to think, then came to with a start a few seconds later, realising that she must have nodded off briefly. She grabbed a napkin and quill and tried to focus long enough to write down what Will had just said, but the details were already slipping through her mind, as if she were trying to carry water in her hands.

_Oh sod it._ She glanced at the clock on the wall; _Only half past ten? Not too late. With a bit of luck, he should still be up._ She surreptitiously slid round on the chair and pulled out her mirror phone, murmuring into it the name "Cassius Smethwyck." To her considerable relief, after a few seconds the mirror opened out to show Cassius, whose eyebrows shot up as he saw who it was.

"Tonks?" he said uncertainly.

"Listen mate," she said rapidly. "I'm almost out of it, don't know if I'll remember this tomorrow. Make a note to look up that Arkwright bloke, yeah? The zoo one? Just heard some gossip. Sounds like he made some –" she took a deep breath and finished carefully "– some threats towards old Ashface or whatever his name is. Make a note, yeah?"

"Oh, all right." He looked at her with amusement. "Having a good evening, then?"

"Terrific. See you, mate." She pushed the off button, and pressed her fingers to her temples for a moment, swaying slightly.

"Rosmerta my love! Same again over here, please!" As Chesney's voice called out for another round, Tonks groaned and let her head sink into her hands; then with a sigh, decided to simply abandon the idea of trying to do any actual investigative work tonight.

It just wasn't going to happen.

-----

_Monday August 17__th__ 1994_

Going into work on Monday morning was actually a relief for Tonks after a quiet Sunday, the first part of which had been spent fighting down nausea and avoiding bright lights. She'd also avoided her mirror, which tended to make tut-tutting remarks like "look at the _state _of you!" on these occasions. On the other hand, she was pleased that she'd somehow managed to make it back to her own flat. (That had been easier said than done; she had a confused recollection of dropping off a semi-conscious Rhiannon at the house of a highly amused O'Gregan.)

Kingsley Shacklebolt was leaving the office as she came in, and nodded to her politely, albeit thoughtfully, as he passed by. She strolled over towards her desk and then stopped dead, looking back over her shoulder: _hang on, since when did _he_ stop looking down his nose at me?_ She gazed after him, feeling wary; she wasn't sure if Shacklebolt being polite to her was a good or a bad sign. With any luck it was the former. _Maybe Cassius has had a word with him?_

The partner in question arrived shortly afterwards and Tonks gave him an embarrassed little smile. "Er, hi, mate," she said tentatively. "About Saturday night, I'm not quite sure what I said when I called you, but, ..."

"I rather gathered that," he replied amiably. "Where were you calling from?"

"Er ..." That was a good question. "Must have been ... the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade? _Please _don't ask me how we got up there. I'm a bit hazy about anything that happened by that point."

"I won't," he said, inspecting her carefully. He continued in a worried voice. "But you know, if you were in a public place like that, you shouldn't have been shouting confidential information over the mirror phones to me where anyone could have heard."

She gaped at him. "W – what did I say?"

He gave her a very serious look. "Well, you weren't especially complimentary about our esteemed leader Mr Rufus Scrimgeour; I think the phrase you used was something like 'officious hairy old git with a face like a Hippogriff's backside'. And you really shouldn't have been discussing what you heard at the Toad in public. Even if the chap in question wasn't likely to be there, a friend of his might have been. And you said something about what was under Montgomery Hallendale's robes that frankly, I don't like to repeat."

Tonks paled and made an odd squeaky noise. "But ... I ... I only rung you for a minute? I don't remember saying all that!"

His eyebrows rose. "You don't remember ringing me back later either, then?"

"I _did?_"

"Around quarter to midnight. I think it was just about chucking-out time. It certainly sounded as if there were a lot of people about." He looked at her sternly. "You mean to say you don't remember _anything_ about this?"

"No." Tonks buried her head in her hands on her desk, and whimpered in something close to panic. "Oh, Merlin. How could I have been so _stupid_? I don't believe I did that!"

"Well, that's good," he said, deadpan, "because of course I was making it all up."

She froze, then looked up at a grinning Cassius. "You were _WHAT?_"

"_Got_ you," he said sitting back in his chair and chuckling. "Hook, line, and sinker. You're not the only one round here who can tell the tale, you know ..."

"You _git_." She looked at him in anger for a moment, then caught his mood and started to laugh too. "You _complete git_. Did I ever tell you you're an evil, lying, no-good toe-rag who shouldn't be allowed to corrupt poor innocent young Aurors?"

"I am? Thank you."

She shook her head and looked at him in wonderment. "OK, mate, you _really _got me there. How did you manage to keep such a straight face?"

"It's much easier to tease people when they don't see it coming. Serves you right for being out of your tree." He said this deadpan too, and then they both started to giggle helplessly.

"Such hilarity in the office, now?" said someone from behind them in an Irish accent. "I suppose you're all recovered then? You were really in the numbs Saturday night. Leading my young lady into bad habits, so you were."

Tonks swallowed the last giggle and turned. "Hi, Don. Hi, Arnie. And I didn't! She started it."

"Now, that's mature of you." O'Gregan grabbed a couple of chairs from nearby cubicles for himself and Cornworthy. "Right then, Cassius here tells me you may have some suspects for us? We're all ears."

Cassius briefly outlined what they'd discovered about the Blackstocks, and handed out duplicated copies of the information that he'd prepared. The other Aurors glanced at each other, but forbore to comment immediately.

"_Most_ interesting, Cassius old mate," said O'Gregan with a whistle when he'd finished. "So our young honey is a real person then? And her daddy's on Ellie's little list? Do we have any idea what she might have been doing so far from home that night? Does she go to the Toad often?"

Tonks was glancing through the sheets of parchment for the section concerning Portia Blackstock. The immediately obvious problem was that there just wasn't very much information about her on file. As far as the records went, she was simply a girl from a wealthy family who spent most of her time on the wizarding social circuit, no more and no less. There were certainly no reported sightings of her in dodgy London pubs.

She cursed and threw the sheets on to her desk. "Not according to this. Doesn't the wretched girl do _anything_ but go to parties and give herself beauty treatments?"

Cornworthy looked up with amusement. "Well, you can't deny they seem to work, Tonks."

"Yeah, but what a boring life!" Seeing the raised eyebrows of the others, she blushed and amplified her comment. "I mean, come on, I love a good time – er, obviously – but I want to do other things with my life as well! This job, for a start."

Cassius held up his hands. "No argument from me. Just a moment," he said, looking at his notes again, "she's only a couple of years younger than you are. Do you remember her from school?"

Tonks shrugged. "Don't think so. You don't really pay much attention to younger students at that age, do you? Not even the ones in your own house, most of the time."

"I did," said Cassius. "Different era, though. I suppose as a prefect, I had to. You can't remember anything about her?"

Tonks racked her brains to try and dredge up any memories of Portia Blackstock. "Not that I'm sure of," she said eventually, with some hesitation. "Now I think about it, though, I do remember a group of girls who used to doll themselves up and make eyes at the older boys. One of them was a blonde who _might_ have been her." She sniggered. "If she's the one I'm thinking of, she seemed more interested in the makeup than the boys back then, although she's definitely ... um, filled out since. I can't remember seeing her at the Chess Club or the Potions Guild or anything like that. She doesn't sound like the type, really, does she? And she can't have been a troublemaker, or people would have known her by reputation."

"Well, anyway," said O'Gregan impatiently, "does it matter if she was a good girl when she was at school? Looks like she isn't _now_. Why don't we just bring her in for an interview and give her the treatment?"

Cassius coughed. "Did you read the bit about her father, Donnacha?"

"No. What about him?"

Cassius tapped the parchment to indicate where he should look. "It seems that he's been putting the contents of the family vault to good use to make friends and influence people," he explained. "He donates generously, and arranges a lot of special events – it turns out he's actually on the committee of the charity where I saw them at the dinner. According to this, he's on first-name terms with several members of the Wizengamot, including Senior Undersecretary Umbridge, and he even managed to persuade her to be the guest of honour at one of his dinners."

Tonks winced. _Sounds like some other people I know_. O'Gregan looked at him with disgust. "Are you saying we can't go near her because the bloody Wizened Lot wouldn't like it?"

He shrugged. "No – but I would say we need to be cautious. I don't like it any more than you do, Donnacha, but it's always been a fact of life, hasn't it? We simply have to tread carefully with people who have friends in high places. If we bring them in and interrogate them and then find that we can't get anything out of them immediately, we could have the investigation snuffed out before you can say _Nox_. And we certainly can't hope to get a warrant for coercive methods without something concrete."

"We've got an _eyewitness_," said Tonks. "How much more concrete can you get?"

Cassius smiled sadly. "Those Muggle movies you watched with your father must have confused you, Tonks. Even _they_ recognise that identification evidence can be highly unreliable – and let's face it, in our world, there are far too many possible ways to fake it. At least, that's the official legal view of things." Tonks resolved once again to look up her wizarding law textbooks. "Of course in _practice_ it's often solid evidence, but we need something more for someone with connections. A motive, for example, or at least a _link_ between her and Ashford. Oh yes, and our eyewitness was not only under Veritaserum when he told us about it, but claiming mind control as a defence," he said as an afterthought. "That adds another couple of layers of potential challenge."

"But what if she tries again?" said O'Gregan irritably. "We can't just let her keep taking pot-shots at Ashford until she gets lucky, can we?"

"Actually, Don," put in Cornworthy deprecatingly, "it probably isn't _that_ urgent. Ashford has been very careful since it happened, hasn't he?"

"Well yes, he's not _stupid_," snorted O'Gregan. "He mostly works from home now, he's hired a couple of bodyguards – good fellows, ex-Law Enforcement Patrol – and he definitely doesn't go strolling over the Common late at night."

"And that was quite an elaborate scheme to come up with," pressed Cornworthy. "It must have taken a while to set up. I wouldn't bet on them having worked out a Plan B yet."

"I suppose so," he said, slightly mollified.

"And if she's got any sense she won't be trying again for a while, will she?" pointed out Tonks. "She must _know _that we've got a witness, and that she's bound to be under suspicion sooner or later. OK, we don't know what she had against him, but the way this was set up it doesn't look like she – oh, all right Cassius, _whoever_ – was willing to take a lot of risks."

"I dunno, Tonks," said the Irishman. "That's been worrying me. Suppose it _was_ her and not some impersonator. She was running the risk of being seen with Farley. I suppose she may have been betting on them not knowing her at the Toad, and not wanting to tell us if they did ..."

"Yeah, but if she's smart enough to plan all this," persisted Tonks, "maybe she realised that even if she _was_ spotted with him, her family connections would keep the heat off her long enough to hide any other evidence there might be – you know, find who sold her the potion and _Obliviate_ them, if she hasn't done that already?"

Her colleague looked unconvinced, and Tonks continued thinking out loud: "There was a whole day between the time she was seen with Farley and the attack, right? It must have been timed to happen so there wasn't _too_ much time left in the effect span of the potion. So there was only a narrow window where she'd be taking a risk – after Farley came out of it, she would have been perfectly safe, because he wouldn't remember what happened, couldn't _prove_ he'd been under the influence of Jacmel even if we worked it out, and he's not a particularly credible witness anyway. And we still don't know the connection between her and Ashford, and I'll bet it's not obvious. There's a lot of things to link up before we can ever pin anything on her, yeah?"

O'Gregan spread his hands. "All right, all right. We're just guessing here. We need more information. Like Cassius said, we don't have a _motive_ either."

"Who's the other possible you wanted to tell us about?" asked Cornworthy.

"Eh? Oh, that Arkwright bloke, but sorry, Arnie, I haven't had time to go into that," said Tonks apologetically.

"Actually ..." put in Cassius with a pleased look, as the others turned to him, "I took your hint from Saturday night, and had a word with a friend of mine in the Magical Creatures department. Apparently the case is common gossip over there. When Arkwright lost that zoo of his, he certainly swore vengeance on the people he felt were responsible."

"Why didn't that show up in the records when we searched?" asked Tonks indignantly.

"Because it's an internal report of their Department. We'd have needed to put in an interdepartmental request, and we didn't bother. They just never took him seriously enough to note it in the general records."

"Idiots," said O'Gregan with a snort. "Do you mean he thought Ashford was at fault?"

"Well, he did sell him the cages. By the sound of it, Ashford must have claimed they were better than they were. They weren't nearly as strong as they needed to be for the kinds of things Arkwright was trying to keep in them. Most of them were starting to come unstuck, and apparently, given another month or two, we could have had a major problem on our hands. The way my friend described it was 'would have made the Ilfracombe Incident look like a case of failing to dock a Crup's tail'."

Tonks winced. "Serves him right then."

"You're correct, of course, but _he_ didn't see it that way. He looked on it as those nasty Ministry people taking his 'pets' away. My friend said _they_ looked on it as preventing a few dozen people being eaten, and a cataclysmic breach of the Statute of Secrecy. He was lucky to stay out of Azkaban – connections again, Donnacha, I'm afraid."

"Bah!"

"Exactly. Anyway, you can imagine he might have a grudge against Ashford."

"Were those connections the same ones as Blackstock?" asked Cornworthy shrewdly. "Mutual friends?"

Cassius looked taken aback. "I hadn't thought to ask," he said. "We'll have to inquire."

"Right, Cassius," said O'Gregan firmly. "_What are we going to do?_ Anything? I've got a week off from Saturday for the World Cup, remember, so we need to get something going before then."

"So have I," pointed out Tonks. "Well, OK, technically I'm on secondment to the security team, but at any rate I'm away from the office for a while."

"Me too," added Cassius. He added, in response to their surprised looks, "Donnacha's not the only one who's got tickets for the Final, you know."

They all looked at Cornworthy, who looked back dolefully. "Well, I haven't, and I'm not doing security, so I suppose it's down to me to keep the cauldron boiling," he said. "Perhaps we should just arrange to have them shadowed and see if they go anywhere we wouldn't expect? There must be a few spare Patrol people we can call on to help out."

"That'll do for the time being," agreed O'Gregan. "Arkwright doesn't go out much any more, and I imagine the Blackstocks will be going to the Final themselves if they're so keen to make a good social impression." He looked at the others for confirmation.

"Deal," said Tonks, and Cassius nodded. O'Gregan clapped his hands.

"Well, that's settled then. We'll sort it out and let you know what's happening. Anyway, if it pans out for young Tonks here tonight, we may learn a lot from that. Do you think the fellow is going to tell us anything?"

They turned to Tonks, who shrugged, feeling a touch of nerves. "I don't know. Even if he _is_ selling the stuff, I don't suppose people tell him what they want to do with it – well, apart from Beatrice Easton, that is, but I don't really think she's got the makings of a criminal mastermind. In fact, from his point of view, he could just be planning to make a quick profit by selling her some rubbish, and spinning her a yarn about it being this wonderful mind control potion. She couldn't exactly complain to Magical Trading Standards, could she?"

"No. So we might solve your case tonight and not ours."

Tonks nodded. "Sorry, Don."

"Ah well. It's still our best chance of a quick result. And we can see how _he_ likes being fed mind-affecting potions."

"I don't like the idea of handing over 150 Galleons to him, to be honest, but I suppose if it gets that far we can arrest him straight after and take it back."

O'Gregan chuckled. "Trust in the Emerald Isle, my dear Nymphadora." At her bemused look, he explained, "They'll give you leprechaun gold for this sort of situation, just in case it gets out of control. Vanishes a few hours later, more's the pity."

"Oh right." She brightened. "Listen, we may need some backup, yeah? Could you two be available if we need you? Link you in to a couple of those Panic Buttons?"

"No worries," said O'Gregan airily, waving a hand. "I'm sure you can cope, now, but we'd be glad to help you out if the boy tries to get rough. One good turn deserves another."

"Great." She turned to Cassius. "Partner – let's work on our plan."

-----

At quarter to nine that evening Tonks had changed into Beatrice Easton's appearance, dressed in her clothes, and was stepping through the door of the Transfigured Toad again – for what she sincerely hoped would be the last time for a while. Cassius had gone on ahead, and was waiting in the pub in case Tonks needed immediate backup. O'Gregan and Cornworthy had gone home, but could Apparate to her aid at a moment's notice if necessary.

Tonks acquired another goblet of Beatrice's favourite juice concoction from the barman, and took a seat well away from Cassius, who was nursing a beer (to the scorn of some people at nearby tables). She examined her surroundings, nerves jangling – she felt as edgy as she'd ever been since starting the job. The pub was full tonight, and between the dim light and the haze of tobacco smoke, it was difficult to make faces out. It struck her that this must have been what it was like on the night Farley went to the going-away do for – Wells, wasn't it? – and got more than he'd bargained for. Looking around, she could see that anonymity could easily be possible here. _So there, Don._

She tensed as an unshaven man in baggy robes, who appeared to have already had too much to drink, sat down next to her.

"Hey, beautiful, haven't seen you in here before," he said with a leer (a remark which confirmed for Tonks that he'd _definitely_ had too much to drink, given Beatrice's somewhat nondescript looks).

She drew herself up to her full height, as far as that was possible while sitting, and looked away haughtily, all the while cursing her luck. The last thing she wanted at this point was to draw attention to herself, with the risk of having to behave out of character.

"Ooh, hoity-toity," he said, scowling. "Bit too low class for the Ministry Miss, eh? Me not quite what you had in mind when you came in slumming it?"

"I'm waiting for someone," she said shortly.

"Aren't we all, dear." He chortled at his own joke and breathed stale Firewhisky fumes over her; Tonks gritted her teeth and bit off a most un-Easton-like remark. Fortunately, no-one seemed to be looking their way yet (except a mildly concerned Cassius, watching them out of the corner of his eye). She breathed a silent sigh of relief and wondered idly if she could somehow Stun him without it being obvious. She almost missed seeing the door swing open, and when she looked up was actually relieved to see her contact.

He strolled over to her at a brisk pace and said, in the mocking tone that he seemed to use routinely, "Well, well, picked someone up already, have you? Are you sure you need my help?"

"Yes, quite sure," said Tonks, getting up from the table in haste. He still wore a scarf, she noticed. _With a bit of luck, we'll find out who you _really _are tonight, mate_, she thought unkindly as she followed him to an alcove.

She sat across from him and studied of the parts of his face not covered by the scarf, taking careful note of the bone structure and the shape and colour of the eyes. Inwardly, she felt disappointed; she couldn't see much of his features, although she felt sure that it was the same man she'd met before. If Cassius was right about the weakness of identification evidence, though, that probably wouldn't sound convincing to the court.

"Well then," he said affably. "I take it we still have a deal?"

"Yes," said Tonks. Remembering to sound nervous – well, even more nervous than she actually was – she said carefully, "Er, this ... this potion I'm buying gives complete control of someone, correct?" _For the record, mate. Just so I can swear at trial that you knew exactly what you were selling._

"Oh it does, it does," he said with merriment. "But more importantly – do _you_ have the money?"

"Yes," said Tonks hesitantly. "Can ... can I see it first?"

"Certainly." He reached into his robes and brought out a bottle of a pale yellowish liquid that unquestionably fitted the description of Liquor of Jacmel. "This is what we agreed on, so now let me see the money?"

"OK. Yes. OK." She reached into her handbag slowly, making sure as she did so that her wand was accessible at a moment's notice in case he attempted to just take the money and go. It was up the sleeve of her robes, fixed in place in a holder originally intended for concealing wands while dressed in Muggle clothes (she'd been amused to note it was one of the inventions of Portia Blackstock's grandfather). She lifted out the bag of evanescent 'Galleons' and placed it on the table, where it made a satisfactory _clink_.

"Good." The man tipped the fake money onto the table and counted it quickly, stacking the coins in piles. It obviously came to the right total, because he smiled, swept them back into the bag, and looked at her. "Well, well. All here. Good!" He took the bottle and pushed it casually across the table at her. "Go on, take it then. You're paying for it. Got a problem with buying it or something?"

There was something about the way he said this that Tonks didn't like, She braced herself and cautiously picked up the bottle.

Nothing happened. With relief, she hid it away in her handbag and prepared to get up and leave. As soon as they were out of the pub, she could arrest him, create a Portkey, and be on the way back to the Ministry for what promised to be quite an enjoyable interrogation. She paused for a moment to take a good long look at the man across the table. Actually, it would be nice to get him to talk _before_ they got him back to the holding cells … She had the strong impression that he might well just clam up and force them to wait for a Veritaserum warrant.

"Er, ... thank you," she said tentatively. "I hope I haven't taken your whole supply or anything."

"Oh, don't worry your little head about _that_," said the wizard cheerfully. "I should be restocking soon. Right, then, a little drink to seal the deal, I think!" Ignoring Tonks' yelp of protest, he tapped with his wand on the table; the alcove curtains slid open, and the landlord strolled over with a look of inquiry.

"Two glasses of that old Firewhisky I managed to, ah, _obtain _for you, Finley, I think," he said, winking at him. "My treat. This little lady and I have just completed a very satisfactory business arrangement."

"Certainly, sir." His lip curled, but he pointed his wand at the bar and Summoned a bottle and a couple of glasses, pouring out generous measures. Tonks watched this with concern, as she attempted to gauge her chances of arresting the wizard straight away while they were still in the pub. She didn't know much about tonight's patrons, but she was willing to bet that they included several people who would come to his assistance in any confrontation with an Auror. _Well, an outnumbered one at any rate._

"I'm sorry, Mr, er ..." she said in a prim and hesitant manner, "but I never drink alcohol." Fortunately, Beatrice Easton actually didn't, which made this statement rather more believable.

"Oh, just this once won't hurt you, will it?" he said amiably. Tonks wasn't so sure. She had seen the bottle opened, but ... she didn't really want to be drinking large Firewhiskies in this place, especially in the character of a woman who would probably get completely plastered by a single shot of the stuff.

At this point, there was a welcome interruption as an argument broke out across the floor. Tonks glanced over to see what it was all about, and quickly realised that it might not be welcome after all.

"Well, if it isn't Mr Cassius Smethwyck," someone was saying in an aggressive manner, his voice loud enough to carry across the room. "What are you doing in here? Seeing the sights? _Slumming it_ now you've retired?" With the use of that phrase, she recognised the voice as that of her erstwhile companion with the Firewhisky breath.

"Actually, I'm back in harness now, young man. Who might you be?" said Cassius equably. She could hear him speak too now, as the noise level in the pub had dropped dramatically as people paused their conversations to watch the potential confrontation. She took a moment to wonder at the description _young man_, but supposed that to Cassius, he probably _was_.

"Never you mind, _Auror_." The man snarled these words at him. The noise level dropped still further as a rather ugly silence developed. The landlord moved over towards Cassius' table in a casual stroll, but Tonks could see that his hand was gripped tightly around his wand.

"Good evening, gentlemen, do we have a problem here?" he said.

"You're letting some undesirables into your pub, Finley," said the man viciously. Tonks heard the wizard beside her make a disapproving noise. He was watching the scene through narrowed eyes.

"So, Mr ... Smethwyck, is it? Are you here on official business, then?" asked the landlord. Tonks could see Cassius hesitate for a moment. Of course he _was_, but there was no way he could admit to it.

"Just dropping by to have a drink and absorb the atmosphere, Mr McAllister," he said calmly. "I'm allowed to do that, I believe?"

The landlord's lip curled again. "Yeah, you are," he said. "As it happens, though, _I'm_ allowed to chuck out anyone I think might cause trouble in my pub. Now I'm sure you're perfectly well-behaved, but unfortunately some of my other customers seem to take objection to you. I think you'd better leave."

Cassius sized him up, obviously trying to decide what his best move would be. Tonks was sure he wouldn't want to leave, but there wasn't much good he could do by staying now he'd been identified as an Auror. "Well, I'm sure I wouldn't wish to cause trouble," he replied in an even tone, getting up from his chair. "I'll take myself off – but of course, I'll always be around if anyone wishes to talk to me." Tonks, muttering under her breath, read that as a hint that he would attempt to lurk around outside somewhere should she need him when she came out, although at this point she was only listening with half her attention. She had no idea whether anyone would follow him out and try to start something, or what she could do about it if they did.

Her companion turned away abruptly from the scene around Cassius to see Tonks holding her glass in her lap, and touching the end of the poison detector from the 'knife' K had given her into the contents. She flushed as he sniggered at her. She put the drink back on the table and glanced at the end of the tester; it hadn't turned red.

"I actually _didn't _poison that drink, you know," he said with amusement as he caught her eye. "Drink up. You might like what it does, you know."

Tonks hesitated for a moment, then raised the glass to her lips and swallowed the contents in one, remembering to cough and splutter as if she hadn't done this recently. The wizard opposite did the same without the coughing and spluttering – he obviously _had_ done this recently. She looked at him sharply while he did so, but he tucked the glass neatly under the scarf and it didn't move away from his face far enough for her to get a look at it. "Bottoms up," he said. "Well, it was nice meeting you, but I suppose we both have things to do now? After you."

Tonks left the alcove and, despite her nerves, headed towards the door at an even pace – but ready to take action at a moment's notice should there be any trouble. She'd be on her own for a few crucial moments if anybody was planning anything, regardless of Panic Buttons. She took great care to avoid tripping over anything this time. Fortunately, she made it to the door without incident, and let out her breath in relief.

She walked a little way down the street and then staggered slightly, leaning against a wall for support with one hand and flapping the other. She shook her head a few times, putting her hands to her temples as if suffering from another hangover, and then stood there waiting until an arm took hers and led her away down the street.. She turned and stared at her companion with an unfocused look. It was the wizard she'd just met in the pub.

"Well, now, Mrs Easton – or Little Miss Clumsy, or whoever it is you _really_ are," he said conversationally, but with a slightly threatening undercurrent, "perhaps we should take a little walk? Those little poison testers are quite handy, but they don't react to things that aren't poisons. Like the stuff in that _special _bottle of Firewhisky I told Finley to serve if I asked him to. I reckon it should be starting to work round about now. Let's go this way, shall we?"

Tonks shuddered slightly, half-resisted the pull on her arm, but then continued to accompany him docilely as they strolled away down the street. Her eyes as she looked at him were glazed. He laughed at her, quietly but exuberantly, as they strolled arm-in-arm along Diagon Alley away from the pub.


	9. How Could I Have Been So Stupid?

**8. How Could I Have Been So **_**Stupid?**_

_Monday August 17__th__ 1994_

The wizard in the scarf seemed positively insouciant as he sauntered along the street with Tonks. He looked down at her and said casually, "I heard some gossip from Finley that a couple of people he didn't know had been poking around his place, and funnily enough they both kept tripping over things. Bit suspicious that, I thought. Something to bear in mind."

He laughed in a rather unpleasant way as Tonks looked up at him dully, and continued talking in a careless manner as he walked her down the street.

"You fooled me completely when you turned up as that Easton woman. Assuming you _aren't_ her? If you are, I'm sorry, love, but I bet you're not. You tripped when you left, you see, and that started me thinking. Then I realised that you _had_ seemed a bit more forward, which gave me rather a surprise. I was quite glad I'd made sure to give myself time to investigate you a little before I sold you any of the _good_ stuff. Bad technique on your part, you really should have worked on your sense of balance before going undercover. Got to admit you're good at disguise though!"

They moved slowly along Diagon Alley past the rows of familiar shops, practically all of which were closed at this time on a Monday night. He kept a tight grip on her arm. There were only a few people around, and none of them were paying much attention to a man and a woman looking for all the world as if they were a couple out for an evening stroll

He glanced at her again. "Who are you anyway?"

"My name's ... name is ..." She hesitated.

"Yes?"

"T ... T ... Tonks," she said eventually, in a thick voice.

"_Not_ Easton then." He sniggered. "Didn't think it would be, not after I was told you Flooed straight over to the Ministry after our last meeting instead of going off home like a good little girl. You should have realised someone was following you. Tonks, eh? Isn't that a funny name for a woman?"

"No. Well ... family ... name."

He looked at her appraisingly. "Fighting against it, eh? Don't worry, give it half an hour, you won't be. Effects will have fully kicked in by then. First name?"

"Ny – no."

"Sorry?"

"N – no."

"_No?_ You _are_ fighting it, aren't you? Your _first name_, Miss Tonks. _Now_."

"Ny – Ny – Nymphadora."

He laughed. "That's better. I'd be reluctant to tell people that, too." They were walking past the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron now, towards the quieter parts of the wizarding business area. "So what does Nymphadora Tonks do for a living? _Tell me_."

Tonks stopped walking for a moment, half-heartedly trying to pull away from his grip on her arm, but then started again as he tugged impatiently at her elbow. She looked at him glassy-eyed, with a horrified expression as if she couldn't quite believe what she was doing.

"Again. What do you do?"

"I'm ... an ... an ... an Auror," she said, in a dazed manner.

He stopped walking for a moment, but caught himself and moved on immediately. "Well, _what _a surprise. I don't think. I presume that old idiot they threw out the pub was with you?"

"He's not." She had a shifty look as she said this; the wizard looked at her sharply and glanced at his watch.

"Hmm, another few minutes yet." Although most of his face was concealed, his eyes seemed gleeful. "You think you can stop this, _Nymphadora_? You can't. It's very powerful stuff. I've used it before. I didn't oversell it to your friend Easton – or was it you the whole time?" He shrugged when Tonks stuttered incomprehensibly at him, "Never mind. I'll find out soon. You'll do _whatever_ I tell you." He sniggered again. "Now then, he's not _what?_"

"He's not an idiot."

"Ah." He chuckled. "But he _was_ with you? _Yes?_"

"Y ... ye ... yes." There was a little sob in her voice as she said it, something he seemed to find highly amusing.

"Excellent. Well, my mates should have headed him off once we came out the pub, so if there's still a bit of you thinking he's going to get you out of this, dream on. So, how long has Nymphadora Tonks been an Auror, then?"

"Er, yeah. A month. About a month."

"_A month?_" He actually laughed out loud. "And they send you out doing something like this straight away! Bleeding hell, I knew the Ministry were having trouble finding them, but they must be getting desperate. In over your head, girl. You're not very good at this, are you?"

"I am." This was said with a hint of mulishness.

"Yeah? What are you working on?"

"Not supposed ... to tell you."

"I'm sure you're not. What are you working on?"

"A case."

"Of _course_ you are. _What are you working on?_ Details please."

"Case with potion ... illegal. Not common in this country. Nobody knows ... much about it. Where it comes from. What it does. Who sells it. Who buys it."

"_Don't_ they now," he said with great amusement. "Well, you may _just_ be getting a little bit of an idea by now. I did say I should be restocking soon –" he reached into her handbag and pulled out the bottle he'd sold her, tucking it into his pocket "– starting right now, in fact, because if you're not that Easton woman you won't be needing this. Of course, I also said you might like what it did to you, but I lied."

They had reached an alleyway that led her into a small yard now and Tonks tensed up slightly. She looked around her with an unfocused air, but there was no-one else around.

"What ... are you doing?"

"Just taking you to a convenient little place we can confer in _private_," he said merrily. "This way. We wouldn't want anyone else to overhear our conversation, would we? I sure we have _lots_ of interesting things to discuss."

He entered the yard, which was bigger than it had seemed it would be from the alleyway, turned to the door and touched his fingers to a panel on the side. He chuckled once more as the door sprang open.

"Not that you'll ever be telling anyone what we talked about."

"Want to bet?"

The wizard turned around sharply to see Tonks grinning at him, with her wand pointing at his heart. His eyes were wide, registering utter shock.

"I _hadn't_ realised that you'd spotted me, actually," she said cheerfully, "but did you _really_ think I'd be stupid enough to drink that stuff? Or go in that room and let you get a wand on me?"

The wizard looked at her. "But ... how ..." he spluttered, obviously struggling to work out what had gone wrong.

"That drunken clown created quite a nice diversion when he had a go at my partner," she said, enjoying the moment. _Sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, eh?_ "While you were watching the floor show, it gave me enough time to Transfigure the glass of stuff you gave me into a bottle, slip it in my pocket, then Conjure something that looked like it. Standard practice. I'm rather good at the more advanced Transfiguration techniques," she added conversationally.

The wizard made a twitching movement, and then looked, if anything, even more horrified. Tonks' grin widened. "Oh, and I also cast _Remansio_ on you while I was there for good measure. You really should have been listening more carefully to what I was muttering. Wouldn't want you going anywhere without me, would we?"

She raised her wand to point at the wizard's face. "Let's see who you are then." She flicked it slightly and the scarf twitched, but stayed in place. "Fixed so only you can move it?" she said. "Fair enough. Does this work? _Finite Incantatem_." She flicked her wand again, but with the same lack of result. "Oh," she said with slight disappointment. "Never mind. I seem to remember that there _is_ a counter-charm for this, but they'll have to remind me of what it is back at the office. Most interesting what you were saying to me just now. You were being very suspicious pushing that _special_ Firewhisky. I thought you might be a bit more communicative if I kidded you along a bit, hence my little charade. Good, wasn't it?"

Tonks grinned again; in her pleasure at having turned the tables, she almost missed the noise behind her – but not quite. She'd been too well trained for that.

_Crack!_

Tonks jumped back out of the way just in time as a jet of red light hit the wall next to her head, scattering shards of stone that scraped her face painfully as they went past. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the wizard who had cast the spell running down the alleyway towards the entrance to the little yard. Behind him were two more men with wands drawn.

Instinctively, she pressed the Panic Button on her robes with her free hand. The wizard next to her took the opportunity of the distraction offered by his friends to go for his wand, but before he could bring it to bear she pointed her own at him and cried "_Expelliarmus!_" The force of the spell at such short range not only sent his wand spinning away, it blasted him back into the wall of the building on the far side of the yard. He gave one short yell of pain at the impact, then slid down it and lay slumped at the bottom, a trickle of blood staining the scarf that covered his face.

Tonks' heart was thumping at twice the usual rate. Practice duels were all very well, as were the occasional small-scale magical punch-ups she'd found herself in the middle of in her time. This, however, was the first occasion that she'd been in a _real_ fight with no quarter expected. And the odds weren't good, despite the advantage of her training. _Come on, Don, Arnie_, she thought fleetingly. _Get your arses in gear. I need help here!_ She didn't even have time to worry about what might have happened to Cassius.

The other three wizards had now reached the entrance to the yard, close enough to fire spells at her at short range, but she managed to deflect the first salvo easily enough with a Shield Charm. Her opponents evidently had only moderate skill, in that they had to aim carefully and shout the incantations, giving her ample time to react. She knew, however, that she didn't dare let this go on too long and risk being hit.

The wizards spread out, obviously trying to hem her in, and Tonks smiled. _Not a chance, lads. Time for an outflanking manoeuvre._ She blocked one more Stunner and then Disapparated into the middle of the alleyway they had just come from, ready to attack them from behind.

It was a bold plan, and it almost worked. They looked around wildly as she disappeared – the tactic apparently hadn't occurred to them either. Unfortunately, the rushed Apparition had left her off-balance; she stumbled over the hem of her robes on landing and clattered into a door, and the noise it made alerted them to what she'd done. Two more Stunners shot past her, and she began to get seriously flustered.

_You moron, why didn't you just get right out of the way?_ She blocked another hex as one of the wizards, taking a leaf from her book, Disapparated away, reappearing at the end of the alleyway.

She didn't have time to concentrate long enough for another Disapparation of her own as she desperately fended off their spells. A return Stunner of her own was blocked, but a quick Impediment Jinx to the legs got past the defences of one of the wizards still in the yard and knocked him over, taking her out of his line of fire for the time being.

_Come ON, you Irish git! _she thought desperately._ What's keeping you?_ In the chaos, it didn't occur to her that it had been barely a minute since the first spell was cast.

There were only two wizards left on the attack, but they were working together now, approaching from opposite ends of the alley and firing spells in relay. The narrowness of the passageway into the yard allowed little room for evasion, and the concentration required to defend against two assaults from directions 180 degrees apart meant that she couldn't risk taking a second or two out to fix an Apparation destination in her mind. Twice her blocks came only just in time, the residual force of the spells hitting into her like a punch, and once a stray spell singed her arm, causing a nasty burn. There was still no sign of her backup, and Tonks realised that she needed something to change the situation as quickly as possible. _Right, then. Just about _now _would be the time to mix it up with something beyond the simple stuff._

Taking advantage of a momentary lull in their attack, she swung her wand in a wide arc, remembering one of the Really Neat Uses Of Transfiguration for combat purposes that Robards had demonstrated. Mercifully, it worked; the cobblestones of the alleyway morphed and sprang up into a thin circular wall that surrounded her, acted as a shield, and most importantly, temporarily hid her from view. She'd been one of the pupils who _had _managed to use Robards' suggestions effectively. The wall wasn't going to last more than a few minutes, but then it didn't need to.

Her two attackers hesitated for a moment before casting another spell, evidently taken by surprise, and that gave her the chance to focus her mind and Disapparate (which had turned out to be a _lot _harder to do under the stress of real combat than it had been in training). She chose as her target the roof of one of the nearby buildings, behind a chimney and out of sight of the alley below; as she landed, she heard two _cracks_ and the sound of her wall collapsing under the combined effects of her opponents' hexes.

_Wait a minute. Two _cracks?_ Is that ...?_ The noise below intensified into what was clearly a duel, and she heard an Irish voice shouting "Tonks! Where the hell are ye?"

"On my way, mate!" She focused, chose her destination carefully, and this time Apparated down to the end of the alley to head off anyone trying to leave that way – only to be knocked flying by one of her erstwhile attackers, running as fast as he could away from the scene.

Winded and momentarily breathless, it took a few seconds before the fact that he was _running_ rather than Apparating registered with her. She pulled herself into a half-sitting position and pointed her wand at him: "_Vestigare!_" He stumbled slightly as he raced round the corner along Diagon Alley, which gave her hope that the spell had hit home. With any luck, he was too far away to have heard what it was.

The sounds from the fight were dying down now, but before she could rejoin O'Gregan and Cornworthy, there was another _pop_ and Cassius appeared in front of her. He was looking rather dishevelled.

"Tonks!" he cried, spotting her on the ground and extending a hand to pull her up. "Are you all right? I saw you signal as you came out the pub to let you work on him, but when I followed some ... lowlife hit me in the back with a Stunner. It was lucky that one of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol came along and woke me up. He thought I was drunk until I showed him my identification." He looked around him wildly. "This is where I followed that man the other day, isn't it? What happened?"

"I don't know, let's go and see." She nodded towards the alleyway just in time to see her last two attackers Disapparate, to the accompaniment of loud swearing from the other two Aurors.

"Tonks! Cassius!" shouted Cornworthy, spotting them. "What happened?" It seemed to be a popular question at the moment. "Did you get the one who ran away? I managed to hit him with _Remansio_, but we had our hands full with the other two. They caught us off-balance when we arrived."

"No, although I _think _I got a Tracking Spell on him," she said urgently, "but what happened the bloke I met? He was lying against the wall in the yard!" Seeing their blank looks, she raced down the alleyway, wand at the ready, hoping that he was still out cold. Her luck was out; she was just in time to see the man limp painfully through the door he'd opened earlier and slam it behind him. She shot a Stunner at him, but found that she had the same problem as her assailant a few minutes earlier – trying to cast the spell while running threw her aim off, and it hit the doorframe instead.

She skidded to a halt, somehow managed not to trip over, and cast _Alohamora_ at the door. The lock clicked, but then clicked back in place.

"Hang _on_, Tonks!" cried O'Gregan, panting, appearing next to her. "Wait for your backup! Has he put _Colloportus_ on that door?"

Tonks gulped as she realised her own rashness but kept her voice steady. "I think so."

"Right." The other two Aurors had arrived, and he quickly added, "Line up. I run the knife over it, you three jinx him, OK?"

They nodded in assent, and he fished out one of K's gadgets, ran it quickly over the door frame, and flicked the door open. This was followed immediately by cries of _Stupefy!_ from the others.

Unfortunately, the room inside was empty.

Well, not quite empty. On the far side was a fireplace, the presence of which clearly hadn't been obvious to Cassius looking in from outside when the room was dark. It wasn't dark now, however; the flames were giving the room an eerie green glow, and O'Gregan, on seeing this, began to turn the air blue instead. Tonks felt much the same. Her wonderful investigative coup was suddenly starting to fall apart in her hands.

Cassius was the quickest to react, reaching for his mirror phone. "Hang on, we might be able to trace him," he said urgently. He spoke into the mirror: "Floo Network office, monitoring liaison. Urgent." His face showed relief as someone answered immediately.

"Mary, nice to see you again. We're in a small hall in a yard off Diagon Alley, a suspect just went through the Floo. Can you trace where he went?" He listened carefully, then turned to the others. "She needs a specific person to go through to a known destination so she can pinpoint the fire of origin. Can one of you step through to the Ministry?"

"I'll go," said Cornworthy unhappily. "I have to get back anyway. I was just finishing a report when she called." He stepped into the flames and vanished.

"Arnold Cornworthy went through," said Cassius to the woman from the Floo office. "He's an Auror, you'll have his imprint on file."

They stood around watching each other as they waited for her to get back to them. Tonks couldn't quite manage to look the others in the eye. "Who was that on the other end?" she asked, just to be saying something.

"Mary Edgecombe from the monitoring group," Cassius said tensely. "Donnacha, when she calls, would you keep an eye on things here while we go after him? Come _on_, Mary ..." There was a ringing sound from the mirror phone and he answered it immediately. "Yes? Oh. Very well. Thank you, Mary." He looked up, his disappointment showing clearly on his face. "All right, Tonks, he popped out at the Leaky Cauldron. Let's go."

They quickly Apparated into the back yard of the pub and raced into the bar, but the scarved wizard was nowhere to be seen. Tonks realised, as she looked around, that travelling here was probably the smartest move he could have made. It would have been a very quick journey, giving him plenty of time to get away before anyone could trace him; it was a public place, so the destination hadn't given anything away; and it provided an immediate means of escape.

With a gloomy feeling she followed Cassius over to the bar, where Tom, the bald-headed barman, readily told them about the man who had appeared in the fire, then immediately rushed through the pub and out of the front door into the Muggle street on the other side. A customer who had been entering from the main street at the time, and who had nearly been flattened by the man as he dashed out, informed them that he had jumped into a Muggle black cab and been driven away.

Cassius thanked him, and turned back to Tonks disconsolately. "_Bugger._"

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. It wasn't as if he'd chosen a particularly bad swear word, but coming from Cassius, it was the equivalent of a four-letter tirade from anyone else. It certainly showed how frustrated he was.

"Can't we trace the taxi?" she said desperately. "They're all numbered, aren't they? Do we have any kind of contact with the Muggle police?"

Cassius snorted. "For something like this? We could send a memo via the Muggle Relations people. We might get an answer back before the World Cup if we're very lucky. Anyway, he only needed to go far enough to get out of sight of the Leaky Cauldron. If that taxi driver's still got any memory of meeting him left, I'm Merlin's long-lost brother. And you're our little sister." He scowled. "Come on."

Tonks followed him quietly out into the small walled courtyard at the back of the pub, where he tapped his wand on the brick that let them back into Diagon Alley. Both of them seemed to tacitly agree that they'd prefer to walk back and calm down rather than Apparate again. That reminded Tonks of something.

"Hang on!" she said, stopping dead. "The Tracking Spell I cast! I'm sure I hit that bloke who knocked me over. Let's see if we're warm." With a sudden rush of excitement, she placed her wand on the tips of her fingers, and murmured "_Find my quarry_."

The wand spun quickly round to point in the general direction of the end of Diagon Alley, but nevertheless her shoulders slumped in disappointment. There was no hint of warmth to the touch at all, which meant that the wizard, wherever he might be along the direction her wand was pointing, was now a long way from London. She wasn't going to be able to track him down by following the wand as it got steadily warmer.

"Stone cold," she said despondently, storing her wand back in the holder that had proved so useful in the pub. That reminded her that she was still in disguise, and with a small grimace she resumed her usual appearance. She hoped she hadn't done anything to ruin Beatrice Easton's reputation, but at that point she really didn't care.

Quietly, to herself, she echoed Cassius' curse in the Leaky Cauldron. _All_ of her bright ideas seemed to be going wrong tonight.

-----

The Ministry was practically deserted by the time they returned after clearing up in the yard, well past eleven o'clock. Even Cornworthy had finished his report and gone home. They waved tiredly at the few Aurors still in the office on the night shift and dropped into their chairs, exhausted.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then Tonks said nervously, in an attempt to lighten the gloom, "I don't think Don was too pleased at being called up like that."

Cassius gave her a weary smile. "Well, I can understand that. He said he had to leave a nice little candlelit dinner with Rhiannon Davies. Lucky they weren't in a Muggle restaurant, I suppose."

"Oh." _That attempt didn't work, then. Another thing I have to apologise for._

As she turned to her desk, she suddenly remembered something. "At least we've got a sample of spiked Firewhisky we can get analysed," she said, a note of optimism returning to her voice. "That'll prove the stuff was used, won't it?"

She reached into her pocket eagerly and pulled out the Transfigured bottle, which promptly slipped out of her fingers and flew across the floor.

"_Unk._" The sound came out halfway between a squeak and a sob. The bottle rolled to a stop ten feet away and remained mercifully intact. Tonks started to breathe again, her heart rate slowly returning to normal as Cassius walked over and picked up the bottle.

"I think maybe I'd better look after this," he said gently. "It seems to be officially Not Your Night."

Tonks looked away, and then, as frustration welled up in her, smashed her fist on the desk. "I don't _believe_ how I screwed this up!" she yelled. "I just had to play the heroine and try to get him to talk freely, didn't I? All I had to do was arrest him as soon as we came out the pub. Or at any time as we walked down the Alley. I was so sure I had everything under control that I even told him who I _was_!"

Cassius' face fell. "You did _what_?"

"I _know_," she gabbled. "I didn't know what to do when he asked, but I didn't lie just in case he actually _knew_, and wouldn't fall for the bluff if I didn't give him the right answer. I expected to be arresting him a few minutes later so I didn't think it would matter ..." The extent of her foolishness was starting to strike home. "I should never have done it. I should never have gone into that yard with him when I'd heard him _say _he had people watching his back. And I should _never_ have tried to stick around and fight _four of them at once!_"

She buried her head in her hands. The phrase she'd used before, when she'd merely _thought_ that she'd screwed up, leapt to mind again. "How could I have been so _stupid?_" she wailed.

"Inexperience, Tonks!" said Cassius, in a strained voice. He seemed to realise he was being snappish and made a visible effort to calm down and joke about it. "Maybe when _you're_ a hundred and five you'll have changed, eh?"

"If they keep me on the job that long," said Tonks miserably.

Cassius shrugged his shoulders. "Look, none of us go _very_ long on the job without messing something up, in some way. It happens all the time. You have to get used to it. I would probably have done exactly the same as you when I started out. I might even have done it _tonight _if it had been me working undercover. Beat yourself up over it, yes, that's how you learn, but don't do it _too_ much. You'd never have made it as an Auror unless you had confidence in your own ability. We're supposed to be the elite, after all."

_Confidence. Elite. Yeah, right._ "OK, Cassius," she said tiredly. Another thought suddenly struck her and sent a chill down her spine. "We're going to have to report this to Scrimgeour, aren't we? He's going to spit fire, isn't he?"

Cassius hesitated. "Well ... yes, I'm afraid so," he said, in an apologetic tone. He attempted to joke again. "But no further than a Welsh Green. And he doesn't usually turn you into a frog for a first mistake."

As far as Tonks was concerned, it didn't work. "Great. That's going to be about as much fun as the first time I met him, then." She reached bleakly for a roll of parchment to start drafting the hapless apologia that was going to be her report. Cassius looked at her with what was – finally – pure sympathy.

"Listen, Tonks, to be fair, you did play with the odds," he said quietly. "The direction of the Snitch simply went against you. We've still got other leads to work on, and this chap won't be able to show himself in public to do business for a while. And no-one got _killed _because of it."

She looked up at him with despondent eyes. "Yet." She shook herself. "All right, mate, points taken. I'm just going to write my report, then go home and torture myself for this, OK? Then come back in tomorrow morning and try to pretend I'm not too embarrassed while everyone takes the mickey out of me. After all, I would."

She dipped her quill in the ink and started to write. "Oh, that reminds me – thanks for talking to Shacklebolt for me. I don't need _him _looking down his nose at me as well."

"Kingsley?" said Cassius with a bemused look. "I haven't said more than 'hello' to him for the last couple of weeks."

"Oh?" She looked up for a moment, puzzled, then shrugged. "Well, never mind. I'd better get started on this if I want to get _any_ sleep tonight."

-----

_Tuesday August 18th 1994_

Tonks was woken from an uneasy doze by a ringing sound, which turned out to be the Auror mirror phone that she'd left on the bedside table next to her. She looked at the clock and groaned; she hadn't got to bed until gone two in the morning, and she _really _hadn't wanted to be woken for at least another couple of hours. She reached for the phone and mumbled "Hello?"

"Tonks?" It was Cassius, sounding excited.

"Cassius? What on earth ... it's _five o'clock _in the morning! What's up?"

"Remind me if I saw what I seem to remember I saw. When you did the Tracking Spell last night, I'm sure I saw your wand spin straight round and point in a definite direction, correct? It didn't just spin round and round aimlessly?"

Tonks blinked. "Yeah, it did point," she said blearily. "But so what? The wand was stone cold."

"But it _pointed_. It means he hadn't cast a counter-charm on himself. I knew it! He probably doesn't realise what you hit him with. That means we have about twenty-four hours to pin him down. Try it again for me, will you?"

"But ..." Tonks was finding this hard to take in on less than three hours sleep. "Oh, all _right_."

She picked up her wand from the bedside table and tried the incantation again; the wand repeated its previous performance, but was as cold as ever.

"OK, it did it," she reported. "But how does that help? If the wand's cold, doesn't that mean he could be anywhere on a straight line from here to France? What are we supposed to do, Apparate every quarter of a mile and try not to wander off line while we're doing it?"

Cassius sounded disgustingly cheerful for this time in the morning. "If necessary. But we're really only supposed to use the official Apparition points. I know a little trick that might narrow it down a lot, though. Throw some Muggle clothes on, Tonks, and get yourself up to the office ASAP."

-----

Tonks managed to wake herself up sufficiently to arrive at her desk half an hour later, dressed in an old T-shirt and jeans. Cassius was already there, looking positively fresh, and she seriously considered the possibility of hating him. "OK, Cassius," she said wearily. "What do I do?"

"You follow me," he said composedly, getting up from his chair and taking a large folded piece of parchment off his desk. "We'll need an nice large open space, and I'd think the combat hall will be free at this early hour, wouldn't you?"

Tonks didn't argue. She followed him down the corridor, trying to shake herself fully awake. Bright morning sunshine was coming in through the enchanted windows, which helped a little; she reasoned that it must mean that the Magical Maintenance staff had finally got their pay rise. _Well, bully for them_, she thought sourly.

The combat hall was indeed empty, and when they entered Cassius began to behave in a very strange way.

First he spread the piece of parchment he was carrying out on the floor. He then retreated to the edge of the room and pointed his wand at it, muttering incantations: "_Iaceo_" – the creases of the parchment snapped out and it lay perfectly flat; "_Engorgio_" – that was familiar, it grew and grew until it filled most of the available space; "_Cartographia orientum aquilo_" – it spun round through about a quarter turn; "_Depacto_" – another familiar one, a Fixing Spell to hold it in place.

None of this made much sense to Tonks, whose brain was still working sluggishly. She thought about trying to seem intelligent by looking as she understood what all this was for, but abandoned the idea as impracticable under the circumstances. "Um, Cassius, what are you doing exactly?"

He grinned. "Take a closer look at the parchment."

Tonks did. It turned out to be a map of Great Britain, and greatly expanded as it now was, she could see that it was no ordinary Muggle map. It was extremely detailed, and appeared to show almost every significantly sized road in the country, with all major magical buildings highlighted as red blocks. When she looked more closely still, she could see that place-names hovered over most concentrations of streets. There were occasional flashes of movement which suggested that minor things were being updated as she looked.

"Where did you get this from, mate?" she asked curiously.

"I borrowed it from K's department when I came in," he said cheerfully. "It's enchanted, obviously; it automatically updates itself to match major changes in the physical world. You know, like the security maps the Ministry watchwizards have."

"Oh, those?" said Tonks, nodding, but still feeling somewhat fogged as to how this would help. "Right."

His eyes twinkled. "Or at least, they're supposed to watch them sometimes – I suspect they spend most of their time reading the paper and talking about next week's Quidditch matches."

"You mean this will show the bloke I hit?" asked Tonks with disbelief.

"Not as such," said Cassius with obvious regret. "This one doesn't show people. It does fill in more detail as you enlarge it, which is nice, but you can't enchant a single piece of parchment _too_ far, can you? It would probably catch fire." He shrugged at Tonks' disappointed look. "Unfortunately, I understand that if you want to show people you're normally limited to something like a single building – maybe a very small village at a pinch. But this _is_ an up to date scale map of the country. Are you getting my drift now?"

Tonks thought she was, but didn't want to make herself look any sillier than she already did after the events of the previous day. "Er – maybe you'd better continue snowing," she said in a feeble attempt at a joke.

"Right," he said, smiling patiently. "I've turned it so north on the map lines up exactly with geographical north. So if you place your wand at the point on the map that corresponds to where you're standing right now, and do the tracking spell incantation ..."

"... it will show what's along the line of search? Narrow it down? Excellent!" said Tonks in sudden realisation. "I never thought of that!"

"Another old Auror trick. One of the advantages of being an old Auror." His occasional 'see, I know things you young whippersnappers don't' smirk was back on his face again. "I understand _why_ they don't emphasise Tracking Spells much nowadays, because they're not always terribly helpful when somebody moves via some method of long-distance travel. But we always used to find this a good way to get around that, even if it is a trifle inconvenient. Now, then, tap the map with your wand and say _Ubi sum_."

Tonks did. A small golden dot appeared in the middle of the dense concentration of roadways that marked London on the map. She looked closer; it was placed over the street that lay above the Ministry of Magic. The red block denoting the Ministry showed underneath it.

Cassius waved his wand and the lights in the room dimmed slightly. "Very good, that's where you currently are. Now then, put your wand on the dot and do the Tracking Spell. Light the wand first. Narrow beam."

Tonks obediently placed her wand over the golden dot and muttered "_Lumos. Find my quarry._" It spun round once under her finger and pointed across the map. It was still cold – wherever the wizard she'd hit was, he wasn't anywhere close at hand – but the path of the beam of light from its tip now showed in which direction he _might _be found.

Cassius, moving gently, walked across the map, following the beam, which was pointing towards the south coast. "Now, if your wand is absolutely cold, he can't be closer than about fifteen miles," he said. "Are you sure there isn't even a _slight _tingle?"

Tonks felt the wand very carefully, but couldn't detect any change from the normal temperature. "Afraid not."

"Right. That takes him out of London then. We'll assume for the moment that he isn't camped out in the middle of a road or a field, either. In which case ... well now, _that's _interesting ..."

"What is?" said Tonks curiously.

"We may just be in luck, because that beam doesn't cross anywhere much until it gets to the coast. It passes through a few places on the map – Smallfield, Balcombe, Burgess Hill – but until it hits Brighton, none of them are really that big. Remember I said that you get a fair few wizards along the south coast?" He looked up. "I'd say that should be our first port of call. There's an Apparition point at the back of Wizard's Row – we can try elsewhere if we don't have any luck. Does that seem fair?"

It did. Tonks suddenly felt a lot more cheerful at the prospect of being able to make up for her earlier mistakes. "Sounds good to me, mate. There isn't any way we can narrow it down though, is there?"

Cassius hesitated. "Well obviously, if we can go somewhere else and repeat this procedure with the map, we can pinpoint him by triangulation." It took Tonks a confused moment or two to remember her school Astronomy lessons; it had never been her strongest subject. "It's just a question of whether we have _time_."

"How long do we need?"

He glanced at the clock on the wall – Tonks followed his gaze and saw with a wince that it was still only a quarter to six – and stood for a moment lost in thought. "Well, we have several hours' time left on your spell, and I think we can expect the man to still be in bed. Yes, let's try it. I think I know where we can go." He traced his wand along the line of light on the map, and it drew a pale line showing the path. He glanced up at Tonks again with an annoying grin. "Well? What are we waiting for?"

-----

By the time they arrived in Brighton, Tonks had finally shaken herself fully awake. Cassius' plan had involved Apparating to Anglesey, where he had talked his way into the Holyhead Harpies training ground by flashing his Auror identification at the night watchwitch, and dropping the name of somebody he'd known ever since his schooldays, who was apparently a close personal friend of Gwenog Jones. The second line on the map had, as they'd expected, intersected the first at Brighton, and Tonks had felt a sudden thrill at the thought that her spell had worked.

Wizard's Row turned out to be a few undistinguished-looking small shops along a back street, although Tonks, used as she was to hidden magical areas, didn't fail to spot the disguised entrances in the walled and enclosed back alley behind the shops that served as the main Brighton Apparition point. She guessed that once you got inside, each shop was probably a lot bigger and more impressive than its drab exterior. That was the way it usually worked.

There was a slight early morning breeze off the sea that chilled the air, and she shivered slightly as she took the opportunity afforded by being hidden from Muggle sight to mutter the Tracking Spell test again. When she did, she forgot all about the weather. The day might be cold – but this time, the wand in her hand was definitely warm.

She looked at Cassius with shining eyes. "It's there," she said, whispering to prevent her words being overheard by the one or two people already in the shops, who were looking out at them suspiciously. "He's not too close, but he's in town. Can we get a map?"

Cassius raised his eyebrows and produced K's map, now shrunk back to its original size. "We already have one, remember?" he said, opening it up and placing his wand on the parchment. "Well, at least until K asks for it back. But he usually has a few tricks up his sleeve – like this, for example. _Ubi sum_. _Focus_." A golden dot appeared, marking the place where Cassius was standing; on this occasion though, the map shifted around it, showing the streets of Brighton in much more detail than before.

"Cool," said Tonks, impressed.

They squinted at the map; the trace mark Cassius had made showed up on the map as a broad stripe, and indicated that their target was probably some way from Wizards' Row. Tonks didn't mind too much. A brisk morning walk sounded like just the ticket to wake her up.

As they stepped out of the alley through a small gateway, Cassius indicated a main road that ran in the approximate direction her wand had pointed. They strolled along, stopping every now and again to consult the map and try the spell. As the time drew closer to eight o'clock, it got steadily more difficult to do this without being seen by any of the people arriving early for work, and Tonks had to work carefully as Cassius shielded her from view. Fortunately, her wand became steadily warmer as they passed through the centre of Brighton and out into a residential district. She was slightly alarmed to note that Cassius was puffing a bit at the long walk, but he still seemed fit enough to manage it. Once they were away from the main shopping areas, places to stop and check were easier to find, and the wand gradually led them into a housing estate where (apart from a few curious looks from children playing in the street) no-one paid them much attention.

"I think it's close now," she muttered as the wand swung yet again, towards the next street along. She hastily concealed it as a boy on a bicycle glanced at them as he rode by. "It's starting to get uncomfortably warm, in fact. Doesn't it glow when you get within fifty yards or so?"

"As I remember," said Cassius. Seeing Tonks' look of surprise, he said defensively, "Well, I haven't used this spell for a while!"

"Great. _Now_ you tell me." Actually, she wasn't too worried. If Cassius remembered it that way, then that was probably how it was; she was beginning to realise just how much she had come to respect his judgment. They moved casually down the new road and stopped about halfway along, where there was a convenient bus shelter to hide in. Tonks tried the wand again, not expecting anything out of the ordinary, and almost dropped it as it pulsed with bright yellow light, pointing at a house just across the street.

"Ow!" She shook her hand with annoyance. "That's _too_ hot!"

"Ssh!" Cassius looked over the road cautiously. There didn't seem to be any signs of activity in the house. "If he's there, I think we just grab him and go. Tonks, are you fully aware of the standard procedures for arresting suspects living in Muggle-inhabited areas?"

"Er ... I think so," said Tonks, crossing her fingers surreptitiously, and trying to recite the list she'd had to learn. "Quietly block all forms of magical exit, seal or cover the physical exits, cast Muggle-repelling spells around the place to discourage anyone from taking an interest, keep wands hidden as far as possible until you're inside the house. Does that sound right?"

"Good enough." Cassius said. "Very well, first things first. I'll contact the Floo office, you secure the rest of the place." He pulled out his mirror phone to call the monitoring liaison again, motioning to Tonks to approach the house.

She looked around cautiously and crossed the road, her wand half-concealed in her sleeve holder again. She grinned to herself as she thought about the source of that gadget. Whatever the current generations of Blackstocks might be up to, at least the source of their fortune had come up with something genuinely useful.

She let the end of her wand drift into her hand – just far enough to use, but with little actually showing where it might be spotted by a passer-by – and pointed it at the house and garden. Concentrating hard, she muttered "_Remansionis edificium e hortus_." She waved her arm around a few times, muttering the Muggle-repelling spells as she did so, and hoping that she merely looked like a woman doing a few stretching exercises while waiting for her grandfather to finish his phone call.

There was no sign of anything happening inside the house, and nothing to indicate that the wizard inside had noticed her. She didn't dare try the Tracking Spell again so close to the windows, but she did make doubly sure to check for the presence of a wizard with K's locator compass. It pointed straight at the building, which she took as a good sign.

At that point, she remembered that the knife gadget he'd given her had a feature for testing if you could Apparate _into _a building, and after a little experimentation, she managed to find it among the numerous attachments it contained, and tried it. The end glowed slightly, indicating that the house was protected against incursions from outside from anyone who hadn't been given specific permission to enter. She shrugged. It wasn't an unexpected security precaution – most wizard dwellings had it in some form – but it was still a little annoying.

Tonks looked over to see what Cassius had to offer; he'd finished with the Floo regulators, and gave her a quick thumbs-up as he crossed the street to confer. Tonks, looking around, noticed a short alleyway between two houses a few doors along the street, which appeared to lead to a lane running behind the back gardens of the houses. She pointed it out to Cassius, who looked pleased.

"Good!" he said. "We can get round to the rear of the premises without having to risk wandering through one of the gardens. I take it we can't just Apparate inside?" Tonks shook her head and Cassius gazed around casually, taking in the terrain while he formulated a strategy. He looked back at her. "The main thing we need to watch for is to make _absolutely_ sure he can't get away this time," he said sternly. Tonks gave a meek sort of nod; she wasn't really in any position to argue.

"We can't break in without tipping him off, so one of us will have to try to get him to the front door, and the other stand guard out the back in case he makes a run for it.. If he spots us, he'll probably try to Disapparate first if he knows how, so it'll put him on his guard when he finds he can't." He looked at her thoughtfully. "Or he may try to blast his way out, in which case we have no choice to fight back and hope no Muggles are watching."

"What do we do if they _are_?" asked Tonks nervously.

Cassius shrugged. "We can't let him get away. If we get into too much trouble, we'll just have to call in the Obliviators."

"What do you reckon would be a good approach, then?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps I'd better take the fr ..." He trailed off at the sight of a man in a blue shirt with a bag slung over his shoulder, who was working his way down the street. "Uh-oh, the Muggle post is just arriving. We'd better keep out of the way until he's gone."

The two Aurors leant against the wall of the next house along the street, chatting casually about the weather as the postman worked his way along the row of houses, pushing letters through the doors. He surprised them by stopping to deliver a handful of envelopes at their quarry's house, which gave Cassius an idea.

"Do you think you could mimic that fellow?" he asked in an undertone. "I'm sure we could temporarily Transfigure your clothes into something that looks like his uniform."

Tonks blinked, but turned to study the man carefully as he passed by. "I could, more or less," she replied, equally quietly, "but what for? Won't it look suspicious if I knock on the door? Their postmen aren't like owls, are they? They don't wait for replies, they just put the letters through those holes in the door and go."

"_Sometimes _they stop, Tonks, if there's money to pay or something to sign for," Cassius informed her. He looked slightly surprised that she hadn't known that, and she blushed. She received very few letters that weren't delivered by owl, and she'd never paid much attention to Muggle Studies at school – she'd always assumed that she could find out anything she really needed to know by asking her father. But it suddenly struck her that her dad had spent most of his life – and all his adult life – in the wizarding world; despite his enthusiasm for films and football, his knowledge was probably almost as rusty as her own. Obviously she really _did _need to have a better knowledge of the Muggle world to do her job efficiently.

"So what do I do?" she asked, anxious not to make any more mistakes.

"Knock on the door and say there's a letter for him with money to pay," he said. Tonks nodded. "With a bit of luck he'll 'recognise' you, and even if he doesn't he shouldn't be suspicious. And he won't dare carry his wand when he opens the door. As soon as he does ... well, if he makes any hint of an offensive move, Stun him and get him inside. Don't take any chances, Tonks, I don't want you to get hurt. I'll cover the back door."

Tonks wasn't too sure about this plan, but after the previous night's debacle she wasn't prepared to offer up any alternatives. At any rate, she slipped down the alleyway between the houses to transform herself and her clothes away from the gaze of any watching locals, Conjured a bag and threw it over her shoulder, and strolled insouciantly up the path, whistling an indistinguishable tune. Cassius, who had carefully sealed all the windows and doors, was now somewhere round the back, presumably with wand at the ready.

She knocked on the door with a lot more apparent confidence than she really had and waited. And continued to wait. There was no response from within the house.

She checked her watch; to her surprise, it was just gone nine o'clock, and he really should have been up and about by now. Maybe he was expecting a call from the law after the previous night's escapades, and was lying low? Perhaps he was watching her cautiously from inside, trying to decide if she was really who she seemed to be? _Or he could just have slept late and didn't hear me knock_, she thought as she suddenly spotted a doorbell. She jabbed at it a few times, trying to make it sound like a ring from a postman annoyed at being delayed while waiting for a tardy householder to answer. Her heart rate increased slightly as this finally produced results; someone could be heard stumbling down the stairs and approaching the front door.

Tonks glanced around nervously. When she'd tried arrest at wandpoint last night, it hadn't been too successful. Still, this time she couldn't see anyone around who might interfere.

"Who is it?" came a rough voice from inside, heavy with sleep. It sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.

"Postman," she called as casually as possible. "You've got money to pay on a letter, sir."

"Mug – er, how much money?" came the voice again, sounding irritated. There were sounds of things being moved around inside, and Tonks gripped her wand tightly inside its holder. He was probably just making sure that there were no telltale signs of wizardry in view before opening the door to a Muggle – but he might also be preparing an attack, and she couldn't risk being caught unawares again.

She suddenly realised that she had no idea how much money a postman might be requesting in this situation, and was forced to take a wild guess. "Seven pounds twenty, sir," she said brightly, but with crossed fingers.

"HOW much? Bloody hell!" The door was yanked open with no further pause for deliberation on the part of the householder, and Tonks gave a huge grin as she saw who it was. Before he had a chance to react, she raised her wand and fired a Stunner into his chest. She wasn't taking any chances _this_ time.

He collapsed backwards into the hall, and Tonks, moving around to hide the events from view in case any passing Muggle managed to resist the Repelling Charms, followed and slammed the door. "Cassius! I've got him!" she yelled. She checked one last time with the Tracking Spell, and her wand turned to point straight at the man on the floor, glowing with light and heat.

Cassius came in through the back door, and also grinned widely as he looked at the unconscious wizard in front of them.

"Well, well," he said with a touch of amusement. "If it isn't the fellow who didn't like me _slumming it_ at the Transfigured Toad last night. I almost feel sorry for him, having such an undesirable as me in his house without an invitation."

He caught Tonks' eye and chuckled. She laughed along with him, a laugh that also contained a considerable amount of relief. At long last _something_ had gone right.


	10. Clearing the Decks

**9. Clearing the Decks**

_Tuesday August 18__th__ 1994_

Tonks and Cassius took the opportunity to search the house as thoroughly as possible while their suspect was knocked out. However, although they uncovered plenty of evidence of minor criminal activity and one surprisingly well-painted old portrait (_quite possibly nicked_, thought Tonks cynically as she made a quick but fruitless check behind it for secret compartments), there was nothing to suggest any particular connection to illegal potion pushers. The search did, however, reveal the man's name – the rather grandiloquent Sylvester Ballantyne – and when they looked up his record, it was rather reminiscent of that of Benjamin Farley. There were several convictions for trading in stolen goods, and one for hexing somebody into St Mungo's during a fight, but nothing of major import.

Tonks was rather hoping that Ballantyne might tell them something useful when they brought him back, although Cassius wasn't optimistic – and unfortunately. the interrogation went much as he'd expected. Their prisoner simply sat tight and refused to say anything helpful as they demanded to know if he had any connection to Farley, the Blackstocks, Arkwright – or for that matter, anyone else they could think of vaguely connected to the case. Tonks found it frustrating, but Cassius seemed to take it calmly, as if this were only to be expected.

They were on surer ground with the assault charges on the Aurors, and here they did appear to have Ballantyne worried. After all, blanket denial wasn't going to get him anywhere when they all knew they had solid evidence against him. But the questioning still seemed to Tonks to be going round in circles.

"... So why did you attack me?"

"It was self-defence."

"Right. You ran into that courtyard firing Stunners before I even saw you. How is that self-defence?"

"Well, you were holding someone at wandpoint, love. You might have been robbing them. Can't be too careful, can you?"

"But why follow me in the first place?"

"Didn't like the look of you. You went out the pub with a bloke I knew – only by sight though – and I thought I'd better keep an eye out and watch his back. Friendly gesture, like."

"And did you Stun my partner here from behind?"

"Don't know who did that. Lots of rough people about, aren't there? He needs to be more careful too."

"And why did you bring along two mates?"

"You always want to have backup."

"Who were they?"

"Can't tell you that. Don't see why they should get into trouble just for ... doing their civic duty like me."

"So if you were all just 'doing your civic duty' why did you run away when the other Aurors arrived?"

"Because _you_ were all attacking me. It was self-defence ..."

After the fourth or fifth round of this, during which Tonks had been scowling ever more obviously, Cassius caught her eye and motioned to her to step out of the interview room. She gave him frustrated glances as she followed him back into the main office and threw herself into the cubicle chair. He sat down more sedately and contemplated her with slight amusement.

"We're not getting anywhere at all with him, are we?" she said in exasperation.

"Not really."

"Do you know him? He seemed to know you back at the pub."

He shook his head. "He doesn't ring a bell, but I'm not too surprised. I was quite well known among the criminal fraternity by the time I retired, just because I'd been in the job for so _long_. I've seen so many crooks over the years, I don't really remember each one individually unless they stand out in some way. And to put it as tactfully as possible, our Mr Ballantyne doesn't seem the standing out type."

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "You know, I don't think it's yet sunk in with him quite how much trouble he's in? Assaulting an Auror is a serious charge, and he's never had to face one of those – nothing likely to carry a long sentence in Azkaban, anyway." An expression of distaste passed across his face at that. "He seems to think this 'self-defence' defence will work – but frankly, if he tries that in front of the court they'll laugh at him. Especially once they've been shown his record. It's not as if you looked all that threatening dressed up as _Beatrice Easton_."

"Maybe someone should _tell_ him that. We don't have to let him see a legal representative until we actually charge him with something, do we?"

"Not unless we hold him more than a week." He paused, obviously thinking hard. "And maybe we shouldn't yet – he may not know the sentencing possibilities. We may be able to put the wind up him a bit."

Tonks stifled a groan. _Another thing to add to my ever-growing list of Things I'm Supposed To Know And Will Really Have To Look Up Sometime._ "So what _are _the sentencing possibilities then?"

"Assault on an Auror? Azkaban technically, although in cases like this where there was no real damage done, possibly just a big fine. But _he_ doesn't necessarily have to know that. And if it appears that he was helping out a serious criminal – and I think our Jacmel seller qualifies as that – he's looking at the Rock for a while again. That should give us some leverage."

Tonks looked at Cassius curiously, wondering why she found it surprising that there was a genuine Auror hardness beneath the friendly exterior. She hoped she wasn't going to harden _too_ much; Cassius seemed to have struck a reasonable balance, but she didn't want to end up like ... well, Scrimgeour for example. She shuddered. That was an interview she wasn't looking forward to without something to show for their exertions.. "What about the report on that sample?" she asked. "If it was really Jacmel in that Firewhisky, won't that be good leverage?"

"Yes, if we have the report yet." He rummaged around in the in-tray and found a memo, and as he read it a grin spread across his face. "Well now, young lady, we have a catch. The potions chappies in Magical Analysis are sure – 100 certain, no doubt in their minds – that there was a good solid dose of the Liquor of Jacmel in that drink, and if you hadn't Transfigured your way out of it, you'd have been in every bit as much trouble as that fellow thought you were." He stood up quickly and waved the parchment at her. "Let's see what we can do with _this_."

Tonks was quite happy to let Cassius fly with the Quaffle on this one, and simply sat back to watch and be impressed as he cheerfully explained to Ballantyne about the horrible penalties involved in cases of this kind, and the terrors of the Dementors of Azkaban. She was observing him closely, and there seemed to be a definite distaste behind the enthusiasm when he talked about them – but she was sure Ballantyne wouldn't notice, especially as he was growing increasingly alarmed.

Cassius sat back with a smile; his body language reminding Tonks of a cat who has played with a mouse for a while and now prepares to close in for the kill. "Now then, old chap," he said in a friendly tone, "of course it doesn't _have_ to be like this."

"No?" said the wizard warily. Cassius smiled again. Tonks concentrated on looking stern while she waited for the outcome.

"No. You can of course carry on with this 'it was all self-defence' story, but I don't think the court will find your explanation of why you were there and fighting too convincing. Especially as you say you don't even know who this man was. Not really very plausible, is it? It's the sort of thing that annoys them. Gets them to throw the book at you on the charges we do have – and let's face it, on the assault charges we do have you – er, 'bang to rights' is the phrase, I believe. But of course if you were to help us find the man we were looking for in the first place – well, we might overlook quite a lot of things in that case. Something to think about, isn't it?"

The man's eyes looked shifty. "Suppose I _did_ know him, Smethwyck – which I don't. Why would I rat him out to you?"

"That _would_ be self-defence." Tonks surprised herself by butting in. She realised she was using the Bad Auror tone she'd used on Easton and grimaced slightly. Cassius smiled pleasantly again.

"I think my colleague here is right. I couldn't have put it better myself."

Ballantyne stared at them. His face had a trapped look. "I need to see a legal representative," he said abruptly

Cassius raised his eyebrows. "But we haven't charged you with anything yet, Mr Ballantyne." When this produced no response except a sullen look, he smiled again. "Look, why don't we leave you to think about it for a bit?" _That's in the Auror manuals_, thought Tonks suddenly. _In interrogations, pressure must be continuous – but to _persuade_, you have to give them time out to reason with themselves and consider telling you what you want to know._ They rose and motioned to the guards to take Ballantyne back to the holding cell. He looked at them sourly as he left the room.

"Do you think he'll decide to talk?" she asked Cassius abruptly as they returned to their desks again to write up the interview report.

"Can't tell," said Cassius thoughtfully. "It depends how strong his ties really are. Give him time to chew it over ... sad to say, a lot of people in custody _do_ rat out their friends, unless they're too scared. Even sadder, a lot of them don't."

"Right." A memo flew into Tonks' in-tray, but it wasn't on the usual pale violet enchanted paper. This one was bright red, which she knew meant _urgent_. She picked it up, read it, and blanched.

"Bad news?" asked Cassius.

"Scrimgeour," she said tersely. "He wants to see me right away."

-----

Tonks approached the door to Scrimgeour's office with a feeling that she at first tentatively put down as trepidation, then with a grimace identified more accurately as sheer panic. On the couple of previous occasions she'd been in here – her first day, and when she'd told him about her parents' offer of help with the portrait from Gringotts – he'd actually been quite pleased with her. It looked as if it was going to be third time unlucky.

She took a deep breath, raised her hand to knock on the door, then paused with a nagging feeling that she'd forgotten something. Then it dawned on her; when she'd changed back from impersonating Ballantyne's postman, she'd chosen her favourite pink-and-spiky hairstyle without giving much thought to the matter. She wasn't willing to bet a bent Knut that it would go down well with Scrimgeour in a bad mood, so she screwed up her face and changed to her natural mousy brown, then braced herself and rapped on the door quickly, a little more forcefully than she'd really intended.

"Come!" The voice from within the office was as brusque as ever. She opened it tentatively and went in.

"Sit," he said, indicating a chair with a wave of his hand. Tonks sat, with slight surprise, mildly relieved that he'd given up the psychological advantage of keeping her standing while he berated her, and wondering why. She got her answer when he stood up, walked round the front of the desk, and stood towering over her instead with a very cold expression.

"_Well?_"

"Sir?" She didn't feel like making the first move.

For an answer, he slammed his fist down on the desk, and she jumped. His face hardened still further. "Don't play games, Auror. I don't appreciate it. Explain to me _exactly _why you thought it was a good idea to follow a man selling Class A Non-Tradeable Substances into a den of his own choosing when you could have arrested him."

Tonks gulped. "I – er –"

"Spit it out, Auror! I have limited tolerance for listening to this kind of thing."

She forced herself to speak in a voice that was as calm as she could make it. "I just thought ... we didn't have much information ...if I brought him in straight away, he wouldn't talk, and we wouldn't get anywhere for weeks while his associates had time to get away ..." She trailed off as she caught sight of his expression, which hadn't softened in the slightest. "I, er, thought that maybe if I jollied him along a bit he might say something incriminating – if he was working for anyone else, perhaps – and I could always arrest him any time if he didn't ... I mean I thought I'd be OK with Cassius watching my back ... I didn't think he'd be knocked out ..."

"Wrong," interrupted Scrimgeour, cutting her off and leaving her looking slightly foolish. His words were being fired out with the force of curses. "You didn't _think_ at all, Auror. You spent days preparing for a golden opportunity to catch the piece of filth red-handed, and then you tossed it all away _flying by the seat of your robes!_"

"I ... well, I thought ... show a bit of initiative ..."

"_Don't_ spout catch-phrases at me," said Scrimgeour in a dangerous voice. "I like to see initiative in my Aurors at the right time, but _this wasn't it_. This was just a routine arrest that you screwed up by getting cocky. What did you seriously expect to get from him in one little walk in the moonlight? A signed confession on lavender-scented parchment? With the evidence of that bottle in your pocket the Wizengamot would have entered a guilty verdict without a second thought, and if he _is_ just a middleman, we'd have had a possible ten-year sentence in Azkaban to use as leverage. And now he's vanished into the shadows again, just because one new Auror still wet behind the ears thought _she knew what she was doing!_"

Tonks swallowed, trying to think of a reply that wouldn't get her head bitten off. A mere "sorry" didn't seem likely to be adequate. "You're right, sir," she said quietly, looking down at her hands. She didn't dare to catch his eye again. It seemed to be a reasonable start, though; he gave her some space to go on (and unfortunately, when it came right down to it, he _was_ right). She took another deep breath and tried not to let herself lapse into insincerity. "I ... I ... I stepped out of my depth. When I got a few lucky breaks early on, I thought ... er, I didn't think about the pitfalls." She risked raising her head to look at him directly. "Yes, I messed up, sir. I know that. I ... I don't _have_ a good excuse. Please ... just give me a chance to learn from this and ... get it right next time?"

Scrimgeour looked at her without a trace of a smile, but when he spoke, his tone of voice was at least very slightly less biting. "You'll get another chance, because you _are_ new and inexperienced, and because your skills _are_ a good fit for this investigation, and because, frankly, I don't have so many staff to spare at the moment that I can pull them off a case for one mistake. Be warned, Auror Tonks. You have been fortunate, or unfortunate, enough to have been assigned straight from training to what turns out to be a serious investigation. An investigation that I am now raising the status of, given these latest developments. The best way – no, make that the _only_ way – that you can mollify me is to get results on it. But any more major blunders like this, any more attempts to conduct your own personal private investigations, and you'll be spending your next year on duty guarding the Minister's teacups. _Understood?_"

Tonks could feel her heart rise into her mouth. "Yes sir," she said as firmly as possible.

"Very well. Now what did chummy have to say for himself?"

"Sir?" said Tonks again, in surprise at the abrupt change of subject.

"Your _prisoner_, Auror. The one you _have_ got, which is something retrieved from the wreckage, at least. What has he said?"

"Oh, ah ... nothing much yet," said Tonks reluctantly. "He claims he was just helping out someone he knew. Cassius gave him the line about how he could get out of some of the trouble he was in if he co-operated, but he didn't say anything right away. We left him to think it over for a bit."

"Good. Right, back to work with you then. And send Smethwyck in here. I want a word with him too."

"Yes sir." Tonks leapt up with alacrity – she'd expected the grilling to last a lot longer – and had to consciously restrain herself from actually running across the room back to her desk. She didn't like the sound of Scrimgeour's final comment, and from the look on Cassius' face when she passed it on, neither did he.

"See you later, Tonks," he said in a gloomy voice as he left, nodding at Rhiannon Davies, who was just arriving. She dropped into the chair he had vacated and looked at Tonks with a mixture of amusement and sympathy.

"Been having a cosy chat with old Scrimgeour?" she said.

"Ha ha," said Tonks feebly, still chastened.

"Never mind, love," said Rhiannon. "We've all done something like that. You know – unbelievably stupid." She grinned. "Welcome to the club. When I started around here, they told me there are only three key things you need to remember: don't leave your partner behind, stay on the right side of the boss, and never play cards for money against Mad-Eye Moody. You seem to have done your best to ignore them."

Tonks chuckled nervously. "Um, two out of three's not bad? I've never even met Moody."

"That's because he's retired. Then again, if you suggested a quick game of three-card brag to him these days, he'd probably think you'd jinxed the cards to explode. I heard a rumour he was going into teaching at Hogwarts. Poor little sods won't know what's hit them."

"Probably half the spells in _Curses and Counter-Curses_ by the sound of it!" Now that Tonks had managed to get past the actual interview, she was beginning to recover a little. She was also trying _very_ hard to think of any way to get the case back on track again. "Hey, Rhi," she said, as a possibility occurred to her, "can we access the ticket list for the World Cup, do you think?"

"Yes, via the WEB Access." Seeing Tonks' look of surprise that she could answer this straight away, she explained: "Donnie asked me to check the position of his seat a couple of days ago. There's actually a complete seating plan that any of the security staff can access."

Tonks perked up a bit. "Right. In that case, I'm going to look up the Blackstocks."

-----

The WEB Access proved to contain not only an attendance list, but even a map of the campsites and the known bookings. Tonks found the Blackstock reservations after only a short search; they were in prime positions among the really expensive seats, and were 'camping out' (Tonks doubted that they would actually be roughing it) in an area set aside for upmarket tents. She breathed a sight of relief; it looked as if O'Gregan had analysed the situation correctly, and Archibald Blackstock really was making sure that his family were seen in the places expected of socially ambitious wizards.

As she flicked through the seat listing to see who else might be nearby, to her surprise she caught sight of what looked like a sizeable Smethwyck family block. _Well, well, Cassius_, she thought, raising her eyebrows. _I didn't know you were _that _well off, you lucky sod_.

Since she was there, she looked up the name of Ashford. Mackenzie himself wasn't going, as far as she could see; she couldn't really blame him under the circumstances, as a public event like the World Cup would be an ideal opportunity for someone to take another pot shot at him. But among the cheaper seats, there was an early block booking of four, listed as 'Michael Ashford and partner, Abigail Ashford, Charlotte Perks'.

The last name made her pause for a moment until she remembered that this was Ashford's other niece. She shook her head guiltily; she'd left the nephew and nieces to O'Gregan and Cornworthy to deal with, and their names had barely even registered. To be fair, she and Cassius had concentrated on the Beatrice Easton angle, but Tonks suspected that _he'd_ probably kept himself fully up to date on the other details of the case. She grimaced; she was _definitely_ going to have to buck her ideas up if she didn't want to end up guarding teacups (or whatever tedious task errant Aurors really ended up doing).

She made a note of the seat numbers and checked to see if they had a booking for the campsite as well, in the hope that she might be able to kill two pixies with one curse and take a look at their suspects while she was on guard duty. Her luck was in; their names were listed in the outlying areas – in fact, according to the note on the booking sheet, as the holders of cheap tickets they would already have to be on the campsite. Tonks perked up; that should at least keep them out of mischief until the World Cup was over – if, of course, they were really planning any.

She got up to find Shacklebolt standing behind her, patiently waiting to use the WEB Access and watching her with a thoughtful expression.

"Had a slight setback, I hear?" he said with a half-smile that Tonks thought looked as if it might break out into a smirk before too long. For some reason, it touched a nerve.

"Yes, that's right," she said, putting as much biting sarcasm into her voice as she could manage. "Of course, a cheap little criminal like me wouldn't want to actually _catch_ anyone, would she? Isn't that what you think?"

"Now just a minute," he said, spluttering in indignation. "I never said you're a …"

She interrupted him, glad of a chance to work off a little of the frustration that had been building up in her ever since the previous night. "If you've come to see if Sirius Black has booked a seat in the VIP Section, the answer's no. But don't take _my_ word for it, will you, Kingsley?" She strode off, leaving him behind to fume.

-----

She found Cassius chatting to Rhiannon and looking rather chagrined. He made a face as Tonks joined them. "That wasn't one of the more pleasant interviews of my career."

"What did he say?" asked Tonks in consternation, her Shacklebolt-induced anger rapidly dissipating.

"Quite a lot. Mostly on the subject of watching my back and not letting novices wander off on their own," he explained ruefully. "The worst of it is, he's perfectly right. And I _think_ he makes the point a bit more forcefully with me because he knows I can remember him when he was a novice himself, back in the early 1950s."

Tonks coloured slightly, feeling terrible again. "Oops. Sorry. No, I really am, Cassius, look – "

He held up a hand to cut her off. "Never mind that for the moment, Tonks. We still have a case to deal with, yes? The most interesting news on that front is that he's stepping up the investigation to a Priority B and combining it with the Ashford case."

Tonks raised her eyebrows. If Scrimgeour now thought this case was a Priority B, it looked as if he were finally starting to take it seriously. As far as she could remember, the only current Priority A case was the hunt for Sirius Black – not something she really wanted to think about

"We're supposed to work closely with Donnacha and Arnold –" again he held up a hand "– yes, I know we're doing that _already_, but now it's official. He's also allocated us some of Rhiannon's time if we need it, so we can call on her when she's not needed for her Muggle-killing case." Rhiannon smiled at Tonks' look of surprise.

"Great! How's that going, Rhi?"

She shrugged. "It isn't. We haven't had a new incident for a couple of months. Maybe he's been lying low, or out of the country. Or maybe he's too caught up in World Cup fever to bother, just like the rest of us. Of course, if we've any luck he'll have tripped over his robes and broken his neck, but I'm not optimistic. Anyway, I'm at your disposal until we get either another incident or a new lead. Well, at Cassius' disposal – he's co-ordinating."

"Yeah?" Tonks was intrigued by this. "Scrimgeour couldn't have been _too_ angry, then?"

"A matter of seniority, perhaps," said Cassius. "Or maybe he just thinks the rest of you have more important things to do." He shook himself. "Never mind. Rhiannon, can you ask Donnacha and Arnold to meet us tomorrow morning at eleven so we can plan our strategy? I'll book a conference room."

"Sure, Cassius," said Rhiannon. She winked at Tonks and walked away.

"Very well then. As of the weekend, all of us except Arnold will be away from work for anything up to a week, so we should be clearing the decks of as much as possible beforehand," he said briskly. "I think we need to review everything we have so far and plan out what we're going to do next in detail, that's why I'm calling the meeting. We've had a setback, but we still have a number of avenues open to us."

"Sorry," said Tonks again in a small voice. She didn't seem to be able to stop apologising today.

He looked at her thoughtfully. "Apologies needed and accepted, but there's no need to keep making them," he said. "Just learn from the experience, that's all I ask. I'd have preferred to teach you the tricks of the trade at a more leisurely pace, but we're so short-staffed we don't have that luxury."

Tonks looked at him curiously. "That's what Scrimgeour said, more or less. Is it because of the World Cup?"

Cassius snorted. "That doesn't help, but the underlying problem is that the Department is having real trouble getting hold of qualified trainees. If it gets any worse they might have to reduce the entry requirements, or start promoting from the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol again."

"You're kidding!"

"I wish I was. Heaven help us if we have a major crisis in the next few years. As it is, they have to draft in all sorts of people from other departments to assist when there's a problem – the way they did when Sirius Black escaped." Tonks winced, but Cassius didn't seem to notice. "I expect that's why they were willing to let _me_ rejoin. Only three new Aurors actually made it through from your class to be added to the ranks."

Tonks nodded. "I know. I see the other two about the place from time to time. But to be fair, that was only because they put some foreign trainees in the class to help out the smaller overseas Ministries ... oh."

"Yes, oh. It was the only way they could get enough candidates to make it viable to run the course. I wondered at one point if they'd insist I took part, instead of just sitting at the back from time to time making notes on what had changed. In fact, I don't think they've actually _started_ a new course since your group began – not enough suitable applicants."

"Bloody hell, I didn't realise." It suddenly struck Tonks that in the excitement of starting the job, she'd rather lost touch with the people who'd been on the course with her, apart from the occasional brief chat in passing. "So what are Al and Bob doing then? Er, sorry, Jenkins and Parsons? They always look busy when I see them."

"Just routine work, as far as I know. In a way, you were a bit unlucky to be dropped straight into a significant case without having a chance to cut your teeth on something smaller first."

"Scrimgeour said _that_ too. Why me then?" asked Tonks curiously. This was another thing she didn't much like the sound of.

Cassius shrugged. "Rufus, I'm afraid. He likes to take the new Aurors he thinks have the most potential and throw them in at the deep end, to see if they live up to it."

Tonks grimaced; that was additional pressure she didn't really need. "But ... it wasn't like I was top of the class in everything!"

Cassius smiled, as if he'd expected that reaction. "No, but you were in _some _things," he said patiently. "And there are a couple of things about you that are … unusual. I'm sure Rufus would have wanted to see your special talent in action at the earliest possible moment. It was probably why he was so enthusiastic – for him – when he assigned you to me. And probably why he was so annoyed with you when ... erm, when this happened."

Tonks could feel her face burning. "Oh great," she said with indignation. "That's all he cared about, was it? That I can Metamorphose? Get the freak in here, see what she can do?"

"No, no, but it helps," said Cassius hastily. "Regardless of your, um, special talent, you wouldn't have got to this point if you hadn't passed all the tests, young lady. When he assigned you to me, Rufus did mention something about you having the character to overcome your family background – I didn't realise what he meant until your little disagreement with Kingsley, but if he brought it up he must have needed convincing before approving your application to join."

"Oh. Thanks." Tonks left it at that, but she still wasn't happy about it – Scrimgeour certainly _had_ needed convincing to approve her application, and she didn't want him to start getting the wrong idea. One more complication to add to the list.

-----

_March 1991_

As soon as Tonks stepped into the interview room, it was obvious that it had been carefully set up to intimidate – her chair was in the middle of the room, and the desks at which her three interviewers sat were arranged in a semicircle around it.

"Good morning, Miss Tonks," said the woman in front of her in a brisk voice. A quill on the desk flipped itself upright and began to record the words as they were spoken. "Presiding: Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Conducting the interview: Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office –"she indicated the man on her right, then turned to her left "– and Bruno Featherstone, Head of Auror Training. Rufus, you'd better start, I think."

"Very well, Amelia," said the wizard, who was tall, thick-haired, and generally rather intimidating. He stared at Tonks with suspicionthrough a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. "Now then, Miss Tonks – as you know, this interview marks the final stage of your application for employment by the Ministry in the capacity of Auror. As you _should_ know by now, this is a highly responsible job, and not to be entered into lightly. This session should assist us in judging your fitness to serve. Clear?"

"Yes, sir," said Tonks. The interview didn't look like it was going to go smoothly, but she'd never really expected that it would.

"We've finally received the confirmatory copy of your academic record from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the results of your aptitude tests, and they meet our requirements. You received six N.E.W.T. level qualifications, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir." Tonks said again, in a voice that sounded a lot more confident than she felt. "Grade 'O' in Transfiguration and Charms, 'E's in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Ancient Runes, and an 'A' in Herbology."

"I see. Well, they're up to a reasonable standard. If you _are_ to become an Auror, you'll have to know a lot more than they ever taught you at school, and if you're accepted we'll bring you up to scratch in the subjects you need. Isn't that right, Bruno?"

"Yes, it is," said the wizard on Tonks' right – he looked younger and had a rather quiet voice, but one that carried a distinct undertone of authority that Tonks found very noticeable. "We tend to discover that our trainees have the uncanny ability to forget most of what they learnt immediately after their final examinations, but we'll be trying to find out what you've retained later on. Of course, that's only half the story, isn't it?"

"Sir?" said Tonks, caught slightly by surprise.

"Academic knowledge can take you only so far in this career, Miss Tonks. I see there was a gap between the time you left school and the date applications opened. Did you do anything in that time to make us think you have the skills and commitment necessary to be an Auror?"

"Er, yes sir, I hope so," said Tonks. At least she'd anticipated this question and had an interview-ready answer memorised and ready to recite. "I've always really wanted to be an Auror, far more than any other career, but when I was told the next intake wasn't due for a while I took the chance to experience something of the world while I didn't have any ties. I didn't want to find myself half way through training wondering what else I might have done, but when I applied I was absolutely sure that this was what I wanted to be. And it's all good experience, isn't it?"

Rufus Scrimgeour, on her left, looked sceptical. "I don't know, Miss Tonks. Where did you go? What did you do?"

This was another expected question. "Well, first I did Europe on the grand tour ... all the touristy things, I suppose, like riding gondolas in Venice, visiting the Parisian Apothecaries, looking round the Black Forest Museum of Sorcery. I went to America and travelled coast to coast, just Apparating from town to town, staying a night or two in each place. I camped for a little while in South America, doing odd jobs, helping the local Ministry look for wild Vipertooths, that sort of thing. I treated myself to a trip round the Caribbean, then came back and got a temporary job here while I waited for the application to go in."

Scrimgeour didn't look especially impressed by this listing of destinations. "Quite adventurous. And you consider this will be useful?"

"Well, sir, I've learnt things that that I'd never have learnt on a training course, practical things that I expect would be useful to me as an Auror."

This reply met with a slightly disconcerting silence. Then Scrimgeour asked "What things?"

"Sir?"

"What things do you think you 'learnt', Miss Tonks? Do you really have _any_ understanding of what an Auror needs to know?"

Tonks gulped, but was relieved to find that her mind hadn't quite gone a blank, and that she could remember the little speech she'd prepared. "I learnt how to size people up, sir. I found out more about what the, um, seamier side of wizarding life is like than I'd ever had cause to before. I had to learn how to defend myself when necessary, how to translate all the duelling theory I was taught at school into real life situations. I learnt … well, when I needed to fend for myself and when I needed to accept help. Now, I know I'll have to learn loads more to be a good Auror, sir, but I reckon that's a start, and a better start than I'd have got coming straight from Hogwarts."

"Not a bad answer, Miss Tonks," came a voice from her right. She turned to Featherstone, who continued, "Although I suspect that like most people of your age, you only _thought_ you learnt enough. But I noticed that you missed out something rather important, didn't you?"

Tonks groaned to herself. _Oh great_._ He wants me to play guessing games_. "Very probably," she said, sparring for time. "I'd be silly to claim that I know everything I need to know for the job, or that I know the right emphasis to place on the things I do know." This noncommittal reply didn't get any reaction, and she realised that she was going to have to take some kind of stab at it. "I'm certainly weak on the details of our laws, but I always expected to have to study them ..."

"Well, that's the problem," interrupted the Head of Auror Training. "It's not just _our_ laws – or rather our world – that you need to be familiar with. You've been halfway around the planet, it seems, but are we to understand that you confined yourself to the local magical communities? You won't be able to do _that_ as an Auror – your work would involve a lot of contact with Muggles."

"Well, naturally I spent a lot of time in Muggle communities as well." Tonks didn't like this line of inquiry much, and decided it had better be tackled head-on. She forced what she hoped was a reasonable facsimile of her usual mischievous smile onto her face. "I wouldn't have seen half the things of interest if I had. And I live in a Muggle flat. Of course, I grew up in a magical family so I'm not an expert, but my dad's Muggle-born so I'm quite at home there." _Not that bad an answer_, she thought critically. _Down a few goals but pulled it back with the Snitch._

"Ah yes, I wanted to get onto the subject of your family at some point," said Scrimgeour, who still hadn't smiled once. "Now will be as good a time as any, before we start talking details. We look closely into the backgrounds of applicants for Ministry positions – especially in this department, of course – and to be frank, in your case I don't very much like what I see."

Tonks turned and looked at him in surprise. "Sir? Are you saying Muggle relatives are a _handicap_ for an Auror? Or any Ministry employee for that matter?"

"No, Miss Tonks. I'm not talking about your blood purity, or lack of it. To be blunt, you come from a family that, despite priding itself on its age and nobility, has displayed frequent criminal tendencies and caused this Department no end of trouble in recent years." He looked at her sternly. "How do we convince ourselves that you won't, let us say, revert to type?"

Tonks was beginning to feel uncomfortable now. "My family are not criminals!" she said sharply, barely managing to control her sense of outrage, although it was true that she tended to include only herself and her parents when she thought of the word _family_. "I'd be the first to admit I've not always behaved myself, but I've never crossed the line, or anywhere near it." This was definitely something she hadn't prepared herself for, although she now realised, too late, that she really should have seen it coming.

Scrimgeour looked at her sharply. "We know you haven't, Miss Tonks, because if you had you would never have got within a million miles of this interview. I think you may have trouble supporting your first claim, though." He turned to the woman in front of Tonks. "Amelia, I believe you authorised a complete record search. Could you oblige us?"

"Certainly, Rufus." Tonks glanced at the stern woman in front of her, who fixed a monocle in her eye, picked up a sheet of parchment, and began reading from it in a booming voice. "Let's see. One of your cousins among You-Know-Who's most senior lieutenants, imprisoned for life in Azkaban. A cousin your mother is recorded as having been close to, incidentally. Known crimes include thirteen murders committed personally, and the betrayal of his best friends to their deaths at the hands of his master. Another cousin, his brother, also a member of the Death Eaters, apparently killed while taking part in their activities. An aunt and uncle serving life sentences in Azkaban" – here her voice hardened – "for torturing two of our people into permanent incapacity in an insane attempt to bring You-Know-Who back. I won't read out the details, I'm sure we all know them."

"Yes, Amelia, I agree. I think that's more than enough to be going on with," said Scrimgeour with disgust in his voice. "In addition, Miss Tonks, it's a matter of record that your mother's family publicly supported the aims of He Who Must Not Be Named throughout his initial rise to power. Oh, most of them quietened down when the killings began, of course, but we've no reason to believe they've had an actual change of heart to this day."

He paused for a moment to gaze at her grimly. "Now, as I'm sure you know, there are many people inclined to give members of old families the benefit of the doubt for behaviour like this. Few of them are Aurors. We have to deal with the trouble it causes. I think you'll see that your Muggle relations are the _least_ of our concerns."

Tonks stared at Scrimgeour open-mouthed; even Featherstone was looking at him curiously. Tonks was finding words difficult. "Sir? I have _never, ever_ gone along with the Black family beliefs," she spluttered. "My mother ... she ... she left the family because she couldn't accept them any more! I'm a half-blood _myself_, if that makes any difference to anyone! It's ridiculous to suppose I would ever be involved in … in _anything_ like that."

"If you were, you wouldn't be the first half-blood who was, Miss Tonks." This was from Featherstone again, quietly, but with emphasis. "Some of the worst of You-Know-Who's supporters were people disgusted by their own part-Muggle ancestry, people who tried to keep it hidden away where it wouldn't be seen, even by themselves. A person longing to be accepted into the fold despite knowing they are considered inferior, despite _believing_ themselves to be inferior, can be exceedingly dangerous."

"And many supported him for other reasons, of course," added Scrimgeour impatiently. "Fear. Bribery. Blackmail. Peer pressure. A desire for power. You don't need pure blood to be swayed by such things. So tell us, how can we be _sure_ you don't want to follow your family traditions?"

"Because I _hate_ the Death Eaters and everything that they stood for!" This came out so vehemently it surprised even Tonks. "You can't really think our life was like '_Oh Auntie Bella, please drop by for afternoon tea, tell us all about who you tortured today_'? _We_ always knew she was an evil cow who thought the sun shone out of You-Know-Who's arse, however well she put on an act for everyone else! We were _glad_ when she finally got caught, we thought she'd got away with it!" Tonks knew she was losing her self-control, but didn't seem able to stop herself. "You can't believe that I would actually have wanted to _join_ them? I was only a kid at the time, but even then I knew what You-Know-Who and his … his … his _scum_ did to people! As for my precious cousin ... I have never felt more betrayed in my _life_ than when I realised what he'd done, and neither has my mother! She won't even talk about him! I'd have thrown him to the Dementors myself once I knew!"

She gritted her teeth and forced herself to speak more calmly. "I knew even back then that I'd just _love_ to be the sort of person who stopped bastards like that. Sorry, pardon my French. I don't suppose I realise everything I need to know in order to do that, no, but I want to learn. I really, honestly do. Oh, and I couldn't give a … couldn't care less about what the Black family think about me. I barely know most of my mother's relatives, and as far as I'm concerned if they don't like me – or my parents – that's their problem, and they can just go and stew in their own potion."

A very pronounced silence followed. To her surprise, Featherstone looked quietly pleased, Amelia Bones nodded approvingly, and even Scrimgeour looked somewhat mollified. "Very well, Miss Tonks. I think you've made your position very ... clear. We'd best leave that there. Perhaps we should discuss some of the things you'll be doing if you're taken on. Bruno? ..."

The three Aurors present now began to direct a barrage of difficult technical questions at her, testing her knowledge of offensive and defensive spells, the uses of potions and the minutiae of their ingredients, and the properties of various types of magical equipment; although she came up with solid answers to many of the questions, she knew she'd struggled on the more complex ones. Scrimgeour didn't appear particularly impressed, but by this time she was beginning to suspect that she would barely earn a nod of approval if she'd invented a cure for lycanthropy in a quiet couple of hours the previous evening.

Featherstone, however, smiled encouragingly from time to time, and Amelia Bones listened carefully and occasionally nodded. As the interview wore on, Tonks gradually realised that her nervousness had evaporated after her earlier outburst, and she began to relax and enjoy the challenge. For the first time since sending in the application form, she had begun to feel confident that she might actually be accepted for Auror training.

-----

_Wednesday August 19__th__ 1994_

Tonks approached the following morning's meeting with apprehension – whatever Cassius had said, she was prepared to face more criticism and people openly wondering if she was suitable for the job – but fortunately, everyone concerned seemed to have tacitly agreed to avoid recriminations, and just do the best they could with the leads on hand. Tonks and Cassius were grilled for every last detail about their visit to the Transfigured Toad, but they were unable to think of anything that hadn't already gone in the reports.

"How's your prisoner doing?" asked O'Gregan. "Any luck with getting the boy to spill his guts, now?"

"Not so far," Cassius told him resignedly. "I thought he seemed to be on the verge of cracking yesterday when we brought him in, but when I saw him today he hadn't made his mind up one way or the other. He didn't say anything new."

"I'll bet he knows more than he's telling though," said the Irishman. "Even an ignorant bowsie like him must realise his story's got more holes than a gnome colony?"

"Can we try to get a Veritaserum warrant again?" asked Tonks hopefully. O'Gregan snorted, and none of the others looked particularly impressed by the suggestion.

"Unfortunately not, Tonks," explained Cassius gently. "We only have an assault charge against him, after all." He shifted, unconsciously seeming to move into what she had come to think of as his 'lecture posture'. "The Wizengamot may be willing to stretch a point with sentencing if they suspect there's more to a case, but these days they don't like handing out coercive interrogation warrants unless there's a pressing need. Too many scandals in the first few years after the war, I'm afraid."

"Oh."

"Yes, well, never mind," said Rhiannon. She grinned. "Look, I've only heard the details of these cases second-hand, from pillow talk –" O'Gregan had the grace to look slightly embarrassed "– so suppose I ask you where you are and you tell me. OK?" Everyone else nodded. "Right. Tonks, Cassius – are there any clues at all to who the man you met was?"

Tonks shook her head regretfully. "No, not really. He kept his face well hidden, and his voice disguised. McAllister, the landlord of the pub, says he's occasionally bought cheap cases of booze from the man, but he never told him his name and McAllister says he never cared enough to ask. His excuse for serving me the spiked drink was that he was just doing a favour to keep in with a business associate. He claims that he thought the man just wanted to impress the woman he was with by serving a better class of Firewhisky, and that he took the rest of the bottle with him when he left. He's probably lying through his teeth, but we can't prove it. The few customers we've found claim they only knew Scarf Boy by sight, and that might even be true. Does that mean he's someone with a respectable face to keep up?"

"Could do, but not necessarily. He's in a potentially dangerous trade, after all. Keeping your face hidden is standard practice in dodgy pubs. OK, then, this Ballantyne bloke. Any known associates?"

"No-one specific," said Cassius. "A few people in the Department remember him vaguely in connection with cases they've worked on, but that's all. As far as we can tell, he does a certain amount of dealing in items of questionable provenance, and acts as a sort of errand runner for hire by people with shady business. We can't tell if he's closely associated with anyone in particular. He doesn't seem ever to have been important enough to attract our close attention."

"Ah. One of those. The Ashford case, then. Do we have any more information on his enemies, or potential enemies?"

"The Patrol are keeping an eye on this Arkwright fellow, but he hasn't done anything much since they started," said O'Gregan. "One thing I _did_ find out today was that Ashford's name is up for a big licence to import dragon's eggs and dangerous stuff like that – and they don't hand those out like sweets, so they don't. It's come down to him and a fellow called Peregrine Witherspoon. No suggestion either of them would use foul play – well, not that foul, anyway. I don't suppose they'd be above spreading a rumour or two hinting that the other poor spalpeen wasn't up to it. Something to bear in mind, though."

"What are his relatives up to?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary, I'm afraid. Mickey's been very quiet recently, hasn't been hitting the town like he used to. Abby's mostly stayed at home – always was a quiet little colleen and deferred to Mickey, by all accounts. Charlotte is out researching some sort of book on the development of wizarding governance, and she's supposed to do a bit of charity work, too, haven't found out where yet.. I don't think our Mackenzie wants them calling round until he knows what's happening, and I can't say I blame the poor fellow."

"They're going to the Final," Tonks chipped in. "Can we keep an eye out for them while we're on patrol, Rhi?"

She nodded. "If we get the chance. Right, the enchanted instrument nickers – I can tell you about that, actually. I had a word with Ellie, but there are no fresh developments on that front. She's coming round to the idea it might be a foreign buyer, in which case we've no chance of finding them unless we catch the people who took it. Unless it was your Blackstock man? Is he at the Final as well, Tonks?"

"Yeah. They're in the posh seats – near you, Cassius, actually."

He looked surprised. "Really? I'll have to see if I can have a word. You never know what people will let slip if you just chat to them. Have you found out anything more about his daughter?"

"Not much," said Cornworthy glumly. "We have her social calendar, and she _could_ have been at the Toad that night. She was supposed to be at home – cried off some sort of party her parents were going to, and stayed in – but there's only a house-elf as witness to that, and you can't trust a word they say about their masters."

"_House-elf?_" said Rhiannon in surprise. "How did they get one of _those_?"

Cornworthy shrugged. "The Relocation Office fixed them up. I suppose it's one of the things you have to have if you want to break into high society, like Gladrags' best robes and the latest model broomstick. I wouldn't know. You don't get many available, do you?" He looked around hopefully for an answer.

"Not usually," said Cassius. "Actually, there was one little fellow who came round last year looking for work, but he wanted to be _paid_, and I don't suppose that would go down well with the people Blackstock would want to impress. I couldn't do anything for him, there's not nearly enough for a house-elf to do in my home. He must have been desperate even to ask."

"Maybe young Nymphadora here should imitate Blackstock's elf and eavesdrop," said O'Gregan with a grin. "Or is that too difficult even for you, now?"

Tonks smiled politely and resisted the temptation to hex him. "Well, they're basically humanoid, so I suppose I probably _could_ imitate one if I had to," she said, hoping he wasn't serious. "But I don't imagine we'd get approval for that, and I'm certainly not going to offer!"

"Very wise," said Rhiannon. "The Gringotts case, then; do we know of anyone who's spending like a sailor when they shouldn't be?"

"I've got a few names," said Cornworthy. "Dodgy types who seem to have come into a bit of money recently. No-one who's actually been flinging sacks of Galleons around, though. If we had fair warning the next time it happens, that might help."

Rhiannon's smile was fading rapidly. "It's looking pretty much like we don't have _anything_ very definite, then?" she said. "Would that be a fair summary?"

Tonks hesitated briefly, wondering whether she should tell them about her arrangement with her parents. With reluctance, she decided the rest of the team really did need to know, even if they didn't need to know the details. "Actually, we _do_ have a contact who'll tip us off if anything happens at Gringotts," she said carefully, crossing her fingers below the table. "One of my ... Knockturn Alley acquaintances promised to inform me."

"They did?" asked O'Gregan in annoyed surprise. "Why didn't you _tell_ us?"

"I had to have a word with Scrimgeour to authorise it," she explained hastily. She really didn't want to get anyone _else's_ back up at this point. "He said – insisted, actually – that I keep it as quiet as possible until it paid off, if it ever does. But I thought you should know."

"Well, that's _something_, at least," said Rhiannon brightly. "They can get the word to you quickly without being found out, I take it? What happens if you're not available?"

"Er, yes, they said they'd contact me via the mirror phone," said Tonks. At the looks of disbelief on the faces of her colleagues, she added hastily, "It's got that Muggle system … link … thing? They only need to know the, um, number, and they can contact me from a Muggle phone without it seeming suspicious, right?"

"Good," said Cassius crisply. He glanced at Tonks as if unconvinced that this was all there was to it, but let it go. "Pass on the contact details for me and the Auror Office as well, for emergency use only. We don't want to lose our chance at this."

"Will do," said Tonks. She realised that she'd made it sound as if a shady contact would be Apparating to somewhere with a Muggle phone available, and decided to leave it at that. She was _quite_ sure that her mother wouldn't want the entire Department pestering her.

Rhiannon Davies looked more cheerful at this news, possibly because it meant she was moving to work on a case with _one_ more lead than her own, at least. "Cassius, I'll assume you'll keep working on Ballantyne. When do you have to charge him by?"

"Friday," he replied. "We'll probably have to let him go then if he can bail his way out, but I think that might not be a bad thing on the whole. At least we can keep a watch on him and see who he talks to."

"Fine. Oh, this bookshop. Your suspect met the Easton woman there, right? Is anyone going back to ask her about it?"

Tonks and Cassius looked at each other. "I'll see to it," he said.

"OK. Oh yes, this lady friend of Cassius's –" he grimaced as Rhiannon said this "– the one who let the Kneazle out of the bag to Beatrice Easton's husband. Is someone going to tell her she's been a naughty girl? Cassius? Are you going to do that job yourself too?" She grinned again.

"I already did," he said with dignity, ignoring their looks of surprise. "I called round last weekend, while you two were indulging yourselves in debauched drinking sessions from Land's End to John O'Groats. We had a long talk, and she was quite contrite and promised not to talk to him again – well, not about Auror business, anyway." Tonks received this news with interest, but Cassius avoided her eye with determination.

Rhiannon clapped her hands. "Great. Right then, is there anything you want us to do before the World Cup then, Cassius?"

"Nothing specific, no," he replied. "Keep up the pressure on Ballantyne, of course, and if – or when – we have to let him go, arrange to keep an eye on him. Erm, Arnold, can you take charge of that, because, um ..."

"... I'm not going to the World Cup?" he finished with a touch of irony. "Never mind. I'm not that much of a Quidditch fan anyway. I'll organise some help from the Patrol. Enjoy yourselves."

"Oh, we will," said Rhiannon with a grin. "Just think, if this Irish git here had had any sense, he'd have got in for free like me and Tonks. Always helps to have a word with the Head of the Sports Department. It's not _what_ you know, it's _who_ you know, you see."

O'Gregan snorted again. "Ah, I'll remember that when I sit back in my comfortable seat and, out of the corner of my eye, see you two standing there on your feet again, far below, as the game goes into the fourth day. I have been saving up my Knuts for this for a long time. I _told_ you to keep some holiday back and have faith that we would make it to the Final, did I not?" He added as an afterthought, "And if you think I am going to spend any effort at all on being jealous of Ludo Bagman, well you have tried that before, my girl, and a very feeble attempt it was indeed." He turned to Cassius. "Where are you seated, then, old lad?"

Tonks chortled. "Oh, they've got a whole Smethwyck block by the look of it," she said. "His family must be richer than Croesus!" Even O'Gregan looked slightly disgruntled by this.

Cassius smiled. "We're comfortably off, yes, but our tickets came courtesy of Ludo Bagman too. We have some modest reputation in the world of Quidditch, you know."

This buzzed at the edge of Tonks' memory for a moment until she remembered the 'Interesting Facts' columns in the Quidditch magazines she'd read as a teenager. "Wait a minute. Didn't one of your family invent Cushioning Charms for broomsticks?"

"My great-grandfather Elliot, as it happens."

"And somebody else was the first British witch to be a referee in the Quidditch League?"

"That was my great-aunt Leopoldina."

"Hang on, Cassius," said Rhiannon, who looked like someone on whom a great light had dawned. "There's a Smethwyck on the League board, isn't there? Ex-player? One of yours?"

"My cousin's grandson Marcus, yes. He played Beater for Pride of Portree for a few years. Ludo Bagman looks on him as a member of the club as far as the art of hitting large lumps of enchanted iron at people goes, so naturally he was very happy to arrange seats for us all." He winked at them as he went out of the door. "It's not _what_ you know, it's _who_ you know, you see."

-----------------

**Notes:** The 'pressure must be continuous, but you have to give them time to reason with themselves' argument is of course drawn from the preface to Hugh Trevor-Roper's _The Last Days of Hitler_ (recommended).

Elliot and Leopoldina are canon Smethwycks as per the Lexicon, although Marcus was invented for this chapter.


	11. The Theatre of Dreams

**10. The Theatre of Dreams**

_Saturday 22__nd__ August 1994_

Tonks stepped out of the tent and took a long, deep breath. It was early enough for the cool of the night to have not yet given way to the summer heat of the day, and it felt pleasantly fresh. Most of the campers had yet to stir, so she just let herself enjoy the moment. It was a rare pleasure; she wasn't usually up this early, but she'd been so tired the previous evening she'd collapsed into bed as soon as the tent was up, and slept for a solid eight hours.

It had been a huge relief to pack her bags and take a Portkey to the World Cup site after the frustrations of the previous week. Tonks hoped she could relegate considerations of Auror work to the background for the next few days and simply appreciate the atmosphere – although she'd brought her case notes along, and fully intended to take any chance to cast an eye over their suspects that might present itself.

That thought reminded her of Ballantyne, who had left them all thoroughly exasperated. Several times, he had seemingly been on the point of telling what he knew, but in the end had stuck to his original story. There had been little they could do but charge him with assault and let him go.

He had paid over a one hundred Galleon good behaviour surety – a sum raised with surprising speed – and immediately returned to Brighton. Fortunately, the conditions of the surety included a requirement that he wear an anti-Disapparation bracelet at all times, and notify the authorities of any Floo journeys he planned to make (and even if he didn't, the Floo Network Office were keeping an eye on the use of his fire). In addition, spells had been cast around his house to allow the Ministry to watch for arriving visitors. Cornworthy was yet to alert the rest of the team, so presumably there hadn't been any worthy of note.

A rustle from the tents told her that the rest of the team were stirring. Chesney Thompson poked his head out of the flap and grinned blearily.

"Up early, aren't you, Tonks? Putting us all to shame then?" A series of groans and coughs from inside the tent indicated that Will Poppleford was slowly returning to consciousness.

Tonks grinned back. "Of course, Ches. We Aurors are _professionals_. We don't laze around in bed at the weekend when there's work to be done."

Chesney looked sceptical. "So where's Rhiannon, then?"

"Er, team leader's privilege, I suppose, to stay in bed when her _team are ready to go!_" She raised her voice slightly for the last few words, and was rewarded with a series of muffled curses from within the tent. She ducked back under the flap into the small kitchen; Rhiannon Davies had made her way to the bedroom door, and was giving her fellow team member a death glare. Tonks smiled at her beatifically. "Oh good, you're up."

Davies made an indeterminate sound and waved her wand in the general direction of the bread-bin; several slices flew out and landed neatly in the toaster. She started the kettle with another jab, and asked, "What time is it?"

"About quarter past six. What time do we start our first shift?"

"Seven. Ugh."

"Right," said Tonks brightly. She was usually the one trying to prise her eyelids apart in situations like these, and was determined to be as infuriating as possible. "Well, you'd better get ready then. Wouldn't want to be late, would we?"

"No, we wouldn't, would we? Tonks?"

"Yes?"

"You're fired."

-----

It took an hour or two after the start of their shift for the campsite to really come to life. Most of the people at their end held cheap tickets and had been here for a couple of weeks already, and quite an atmosphere of camaraderie had built up between them. Even the Irish and Bulgarians seemed to be getting along with no more than friendly rivalry, possibly because the former outnumbered the latter by about six to one.

Tonks and Chesney wandered slowly between the tents, occasionally stopping to issue warnings to people using wands, or employing any other kind of magical apparatus that would be hard to explain away as the latest Japanese electronic gizmo if the Muggle campsite owners saw it. Most people seemed to have got the hang of things by now, and although a few kettles were boiling on campfires with suspiciously regular flames, there was nothing grossly out of the ordinary at their end of the site.

They couldn't really say the same of the more exclusive end. There were several outlandish variations on the tent theme among the more recent arrivals. Chesney seemed quite impressed, although Tonks privately thought that many of them crossed the line between ornate and tacky. One splendid example gave the appearance of being constructed entirely from white marble with gold trimmings on the curlicues.

"Now why can't the Ministry give us something like _that_, eh, Tonks?" asked Chesney jokingly as they passed by. "You'd think we'd rate a few perks on the job, wouldn't you?"

She was saved from the need to answer by an astounded voice from behind them. "_Tonks_, was that? Well, well, if it isn't my _dear_ cousin."

They spun round to see a teenage boy with pale, pointed features staring at them. His concessions to Muggle clothing had gone only as far as trousers and a very robe-like jacket, together with a scarf in the Bulgarian colours. "I never expected to run into _you_," he said, with an unpleasant sneer. "Especially not _here_. How on earth did you get tickets? Win the competition in the _Daily Prophet_, did you?"

"Cousin Draco, I presume?" asked Tonks through gritted teeth. She definitely hadn't expected to meet her young relative here and wasn't impressed by this sight of him. Chesney's eyebrows rose as he looked between them. "_So_ nice to meet you too. Do give my love to my dear aunt and uncle, won't you?"

Draco's lip curled. "Oh, I will," he said, looking them up and down. "They're always glad to hear what the poor relations are up to these days." A faint look of realisation crossed his face as he took in the badges on their clothes. "Oh, I see, _security_. I should have realised you wouldn't be able to afford _tickets_."

"I suppose _you've_ got seats in the Top Box, then?" said Tonks sarcastically. It was a good line, but unfortunately her young cousin had an even better comeback available.

"Well yes, as a matter of fact we have," he said, looking smug. "Special guests of the Minister himself. He's a very good friend of my father, you know." His smirk widened as her face fell in disbelief, and there was a hint of challenge in his stare. "I heard Father mention you'd gone into _law enforcement_. I presume he didn't like to say you were just a guard dog. It's not really something you want people to associate with you, however distantly, is it? Still, one has to be charitable. I suppose it must be the best you can expect on your side of the family."

"What, you mean the decent side?" snapped Tonks.

Draco smiled. "Oh, I struck a nerve, did I? I'm so sorry." He didn't look it. His eyes flicked to Tonks' hair, which was bright green and shoulder length today. "New hairstyle specially for the occasion? Up the Irish? You probably go around changing it all the time, don't you? Helps you save on hairdressing bills, I suppose."

There was an underlying hint of something in his tone that Tonks couldn't quite place. She hoped it meant he knew of her talents and found them slightly alarming, or was at least impressed despite himself – although it was probably scorn. Whatever it was, she didn't particularly want to discuss it in front of Chesney. "Whereas you just like to show off what flash gits you are and swank around in your little private palace? I'm surprised you even deigned to spend time here camping with us mere serfs."

The boy seemed unfazed by this. "Oh, Father had some people to see," he said, smirking again. "We had to provide them with somewhere civilised to meet, didn't we?" He hesitated for a moment with an uncertain look, as if he'd said more than he'd meant; then his eyes narrowed and he added, with studied insult, "It's a pity my aunt Andromeda chose to stray away from respectability; she comes from such a good family. It must be _awful_ having a _Mudblood_ for a father."

Tonks whitened, and next to her Chesney made a disgusted noise. "Yeah?" she said. "Much better than having a complete _creep_ as a father. Miss those glory days when he was You-Know-Who's catamite, does he?"

This time, she definitely had the better of the exchange. Chesney looked startled, but forbore to comment. Draco Malfoy's face, however, turned pink – or at any rate slightly less colourless, which seemed to be the nearest he ever came to flushing.

"Don't you _dare_ insult my father, Little Miss I-Don't-Even-Know-Who-I-Really-Am," he spat. "He's worth ten of _you_. Well actually no, he's worth much more than that; I suppose ten times nothing is still nothing, isn't it?"

"Can't you just arrest him for something?" put in Chesney, who had been looking at the boy with mounting dislike. "There must be _some_ perks to being an Auror, surely?"

"An _Auror_?" Draco Malfoy looked thoroughly disconcerted for a moment, but recovered himself quickly enough to sneer again. "Well, well. I understand they're getting desperate for people to do the job now. Expecting trouble?"

"I hope not," snarled Tonks. _You really are an irritating little snot-rag, aren't you, cousin?_

"And if there is," added Chesney unexpectedly, "and I even _think_ you have anything to do with it, you'll be spending the night in a nice Ministry cell instead of your comfy bed. So don't you put so much as a _toe_ out of place, little boy, because if you do, you'll wish you'd volunteered to clean out a dragon cage instead."

Tonks grinned at her cousin, who seemed to be struggling to find a good comeback to this sudden outburst, and nodded to her partner. "Couldn't have put that any better myself," she said. "Well, we can't hang around holding family reunions all day, can we? Some of us have worthwhile things to do. Good morning to you, _coz_." She turned away sharply before Draco could think of anything effective to say in response.

-----

"Is he _really_ your cousin?" asked Chesney as they strolled away.

Tonks scowled. "I'm afraid so. My mother's sister's boy. From the pure-blood side of the family, as you can tell. _Please_ don't tell me you care about that, Ches, or I might just have to hex you."

Chesney laughed. "Doesn't really matter to me – but the rabid purists who have a wand up their backsides about it are just plain _irritating_. And if you don't mind me saying so, your cousin is a real little creep. I'm sure I've used things less slimy than him in potions."

"Mind? Say it as much as you like, it can't be worse than I thought about him – and his wonderful _father_, Lucius Oh-No-I-Was-Never-A-Death-Eater-How-Could-Anyone-Even-Think-Such-A-Thing Malfoy." She paused to take a much needed breath.

Chesney shivered at the suggestion of a Death Eater connection, but let it pass. "How do you put up with them?" he asked curiously. "And what was that 'not knowing who you are' stuff about?"

"Oh that," said Tonks evasively. She wasn't quite sure why, but she didn't want to discuss her Metamorphmagus abilities with Chesney at this point. "Pure-blood heritage stuff, probably. Anyway, I don't usually _have_ to put up with that lot. We've only ever met a few times in passing."

"Riiight. Fair enough, then."

Tonks looked at him with amusement. "So where did that little 'I'll lock you up and throw away the key' speech come from, anyway?"

"Oh, that." He looked embarrassed. "Just felt like putting the wind up him a bit. He was being so _annoying_. Did I exceed my authority by threatening him?"

"Probably." She grinned at him. "Ches, mate, I think you just made honorary Auror."

-----

The rest of the day and evening passed without events of note – Tonks managed to steer Chesney towards the Ashford cousins' tent, but unfortunately they weren't there. Team 14 was on first patrol again the following morning, and despite their grumbles, Rhiannon ordered them to retire early . It wasn't until Tonks was curled up in bed reading that she noticed her team leader hadn't even got undressed yet. In response to Tonks' raised eyebrows in inquiry, she said in a rather shifty manner, "Right, I think I'll just do one more patrol before I turn in."

Tonks smiled to herself. For an Auror, Rhiannon was being remarkably transparent. "Oh, there's no need," she said innocently. "The teams on night duty can do that. You just get some rest before morning."

"Er, no, I really should, team leader and all that ..."

"Don't knock yourself out, girl! Let somebody else do a bit of the work for a change."

"But ..."

Tonks took pity on her. "Oh shut up, you idiot. Go and _see_ Don if you want. I won't tell on you."

"Oh!" Rhiannon's face was almost comically crestfallen. "Was I being that obvious?"

Tonks grinned. "Honestly? Yes. But don't mind me, it's quite sweet really. Sickeningly so, in fact. You've only been separated from him _one bloody night_, after all, and you're missing him already."

Rhiannon blushed slightly. "I suppose I am." Plaintively, she added, "You make me sound like a hopeless schoolgirl."

"If the hat fits ... how long have you two been together, anyway?"

"Five years," said Rhiannon, with a slightly defensive air.

"Five _years_?" Tonks gazed at her friend with wide eyes. "By rights, aren't you're supposed to be happily ignoring each other most of the time by now? But you're still gooey-eyed over him, aren't you? However much you pretend you aren't when you tease him in company."

Rhiannon made a face at her. "Yes, I suppose so. Must be the cute Irish accent or something. Pathetic, isn't it?"

"Oh, I don't know. As I said, it's quite sweet." Tonks looked at her curiously. "Why don't you two just get married and have done with it? Risks of the job make your nervous or something?"

"You're forgetting, he already _has_ a wife, Tonks."

"Well, one word: divorce." An uncomfortable thought struck her. "Or do you think he's just happy stringing you along? As long as he's married, he can't get married sort of thing?"

Rhiannon snorted. "Oh, more than you know, dear." She shook her head at Tonks' raised eyebrows, conveying a clear message of _I don't want to talk about it_. "Anyway, I'd better be off. Chuck me the badge over, would you? I suppose I should look official."

Tonks leant over to pick up the security ID badge from Rhiannon's bedside table, and as she did so, the book she was reading fell to the floor. Rhiannon caught sight of the title, moved over quickly with a delighted grin, and grabbed it.

"And you call _me_ gooey-eyed!" she crowed. "Honestly, Tonks, I never thought you'd be the sort to read this stuff." In a dramatic manner, she read out, "_The Heart's Plenty_; a tale of a witch and a wizard. And another wizard. And _another_ wizard. Star-crossed lovers abound as beautiful young sorceress Esmeralda LeBaudellin learns about love, passion and magic in the court of Louis XIV, and ..."

"... an Auror goes barking mad?" interrupted Tonks firmly. "That's my case notes, you twit. I borrowed the book from my mum and copy-charmed them into it."

"Oh yeah?" said Rhiannon, smirking, and opened the book at random. "Let's have a look at what you're working on, then. _Her heart swelled inexplicably as he pulled her against his taut manly body and began to passionately kiss the exposed curve of her breast. She melted into his arms as his fingers explored her curves and the rest of the world seemed to fade away ... _Wow, why don't _I_ ever get cases like that?"

Tonks sighed, leant over and tapped the book with her wand. The lurid adventures of Esmeralda LeBaudellin immediately vanished, to reveal a decidedly prosaic transcript of the first interview with Sylvester Ballantyne. "I charmed it so only I could read it, Rhiannon! I wasn't going to leave those notes lying around where anyone could read them, was I? I'm in Scrimgeour's bad books as it is. Happy now?"

"Oh," said Rhiannon, pretending to pout. "You're spoiling all my fun tonight."

Tonks chuckled evilly. "Not _all_ of it. Unless of course I wait half an hour or so, call you up on the mirror phone and interrupt something ..."

Rhiannon snorted. "You'd better not ring me for anything short of a real emergency, _Nymphadora_, not unless you _like_ the idea of spending the next week as a dung beetle. Agreed?"

"Auror's honour."

"Hmmm." She gathered her robes, pinned the badge on them haphazardly, and walked out, pausing at the door to grin. "I'll leave you with your _case notes_, then, although I'm convinced you'll turn them straight back into _The Heart's Plenty_ when I'm gone. Shocking."

Tonks grinned at her. "You're shocked by _this_? Lucky I didn't use my well-thumbed copy of _Hunting Muggles for Pleasure and Profit_, then. You'd never have looked at me the same way again."

"_Hunting Muggles for _..." Rhiannon trailed off and looked at Tonks uncertainly. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Nope. It should be lying on my desk at this very moment unless someone's nicked it." She grinned again, but then took pity on her friend. "Actually, it's one of the lovely titles I picked up at that bookshop to keep them out of dangerous hands. I _still_ haven't got my money back for them."

"They actually _sell_ that sort of stuff?" said Rhiannon in alarm. "Shouldn't someone go round there and ask them what the hell they're playing at?"

"We did." _Well, Cassius did. Not with much in the way of success, but at least we tried_.

"Oh." Rhiannon's face cleared; she looked relieved not to have to worry about something new. "Well, I'll leave you to your bedtime reading then. Don't wait up."

"I won't. Don't wake me when you get back from your, er, _patrolling_." She winked at Rhiannon, who avoided her eyes as she left.

Tonks charmed the notes to look like a book from the outside again, then, reminded by the conversation she'd just had, flicked through them to Cassius' report of his recent interview with Trina Orevel. She sighed. It hadn't gone well.

Cassius had started by explaining politely that the Aurors had information that several very dubious characters had frequented her shop to buy Dark Arts volumes, and they would like to know what information, if any, Miss Orevel had about them, because ...

Miss Orevel had interrupted him and refused point blank to offer any information at all about her customers, citing their right to privacy.

Cassius had pointed out that these were dangerous people who had already been responsible for assorted murder attempts, assaults, and other serious crimes.

Miss Orevel had pointed out that she had no information at all about what her customers did after they left her shop, and had no right to act on mere vulgar speculation that they _might_ be the same persons that the Aurors were interested in.

Cassius had pointed out that he had a very good description of at least one of these people and a woman he'd been seen talking to, who he had lured into buying highly illegal substances.

Miss Orevel had pointed out that appearances could be deceptive in numerous ways, and that you couldn't tell from the outward appearance what people were like.

Cassius had pointed out that she was placing herself in a very problematic position by selling Dark Arts works and refusing to take any steps to ensure they did not end up in dangerous hands.

Miss Orevel had pointed out that her primary desire was to provide a refuge for _all_ rare wizarding knowledge, not just Dark Arts works, and that deciding whose hands were or were not dangerous was his job, not hers.

Cassius had pointed out that her shop had never been registered with the Ministry, and that she'd better be sure she hadn't committed any infractions of wizarding law as otherwise they might just have to bring charges against her.

Miss Orevel had pointed out that she didn't actually have to register her shop with the Ministry, she merely had to make sure she had adequate anti-Muggle security, and that Cassius was free to inspect it, or to go and dunk his head in a cauldron of boiling potion, as he chose.

Cassius had pointed out that he would be watching her closely and that she'd better not take a _step_ out of line of she'd be in serious trouble.

Miss Orevel had pointed out that he was welcome to do so if that was what made him feel good, and that if he still wanted those old Quidditch yearbooks the price had just trebled to thirty Galleons apiece.

Tonks groaned and laid down the notes. She could see herself having to don her Little Mrs Anonymous disguise and go poking around in the bookshop again. Admittedly, when she'd visited the place she'd had a brief glimpse of how strongly Trina Orevel seemed to feel about her books, but she must _really_ have been annoying if she could manage to get Cassius' goat like that.

She picked up her wand to douse the lights, and noticed her mirror phone next to it on the table. With a grin she picked it up.

"Rhiann ..."

_Oh no, I promised I wouldn't call her, didn't I? Damn._

She stopped and thought for a moment.

_I promised I wouldn't call _her

With a wicked grin she spoke into it again. "Donnacha O'Gregan ..."

-----

_Sunday 23__rd__ August 1994_

Tonks was up early again the following morning, although this time purely as a tactical measure – she wasn't entirely sure how Rhiannon Davies was going to react when she got up. She was sitting chatting to Chesney outside their tents when her partner stuck a tousled head through the flap and glared at her.

"Oh, hi Rhiannon," said Tonks in as innocent a voice as she could manage. "Ready to go then? I made some tea, it's in the pot."

Rhiannon gave her a look that was clearly intended to terrify, and might even have succeeded if she hadn't been half-asleep. "I don't care if you boiled the water in the Mystic Kettle of Nackledirk," she said tetchily. "You're just lucky I was too tired to jinx you when I got back."

"Long night, then?"

Rhiannon made a face at her. "Yes. Shut up." Her head popped back inside the tent.

"What was _that_ all about?" asked Chesney, looking at her curiously.

Tonks grinned. Much as she'd enjoyed teasing her fellow Auror, she had no intention of giving her away to the other two. "Oh, nothing much. Team leaders are supposed to patrol the campsite before they turn in. Aren't you glad we're just foot soldiers?"

Chesney chuckled. "Ah, hard work. I love it. I could watch it for hours."

Rhiannon was still glaring at Tonks when they finally left the tents. Tonks hoped she really _hadn't_ interrupted anything important, but shrugged it off as they went about the business of patrolling. There was, after all, a long Sunday ahead of them, and with any luck they'd be too tired to worry about it by evening.

She carefully avoided the Malfoy tent this time, although she did call in the World Cup Security HQ tent to check the seating arrangements for the Top Box, in the vague hope that her cousin had been lying through his teeth the day before. She gritted her own teeth when she found out he hadn't, although she was amused to note in passing that young Harry Potter was also listed among the VIPs, as a guest of Ludo Bagman. _Probably wants to show him off to the Bulgarians bigwigs_. _I bet half of them were You-Know-Who sympathisers, and don't think Durmstrang teaches _enough _Dark Arts._

They otherwise followed much the same routine as the day before, stopping only to warn those campers who had left tent flaps open to reveal fitted kitchens inside, or enchanted fans to cool them down in an obviously magical manner. Tonks once more contrived to steer Chesney towards the Ashford nephew and nieces, and this time she was in luck. They were outside the tent enjoying the morning sunshine, sprawled on striped deckchairs that looked convincingly Muggle.

Tonks slowed as they approached. What she was hoping for was a chance to get an impression of the cousins _before_ they found out who and what she was, but she wasn't quite sure how to manage that without arousing their suspicion. _Perhaps I can pretend to be checking on some supposed breach of security regulations, or perhaps I could ..._

"_Ches?_ Hi! What are you doing here?"

_... er, take advantage of the fact that one of them seems to know my partner?_

"_Charlie?_ Hiya! Long time, no see. And isn't it obvious what I'm doing here?" Chesney Thompson grinned and tapped his security badge.

"Oh, I see. Does that mean you get to see the match for free, then?"

"Er ... well, yeah, as a matter of fact."

"Lucky bugger. You always did seem to fall on your feet."

'_Charlie?' Charlotte Perks, then, obviously. _Tonks paused for a moment to cast her mind back over the descriptions in the files. _Yes, dark hair, not too tall. About Chesney's age of course. They probably knew each other at Hogwarts? _This definitely counted as a stroke of luck.

She snapped out of her reflections as Charlotte Perks waved a hand at her companions. "I think you probably met my cousins once or twice, Ches? Mickey and Abby." She grinned affectionately at the first-mentioned of these. "We were _supposed_ to be a party of four when we booked, but we've got a ticket too many now. Mickey's legendary girlfriend seems to have turned out to be just that."

'_Michael Ashford and partner, Abigail Ashford.' Right, I remember that._ Mickey Ashford flushed and looked away, avoiding their eyes. "I _told_ you she didn't like the idea of camping out here, Charlotte," he said emphatically. "We had a little … disagreement. I got the money back on the ticket, didn't I?"

"Sold it to a tout when she dumped you, you mean?" She suddenly realised she was talking in front of security staff, and clapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh, er, sorry, I meant ..."

Tonks pricked up her ears at the sound of a sudden opportunity._ Come down hard or be friendly? Friendly, I think. Get them talking to me as well._ "Don't worry about that, Miss, er, Charlie," she said affably, putting on her best cheerful smile. "They prefer surplus tickets to be put back in the general pool, but we keep a close watch on the resellers anyway to make sure they don't get out of hand." She crossed her fingers as she said that – she had no idea what the actual policy was. "Anyway, if you're a friend of Ches, I suppose we can stretch a point. Where did you meet?"

"School, of course. Same year, same house, most of the same classes, I even went on a date to Hogsmeade with him once, remember Ches?" Chesney winced, and she said gleefully, "Although he won't want me to tell you about it. Let's just say he's ... not really my type, it was an utter disaster and we settled for being friends after that. Right, love?"

"Too right." Chesney looked disconcerted, and Tonks made a mental note to ask him about it if she ever fancied a bit of harmless entertainment.

She smiled at the cousins as he kicked at a bit of grass. "That's the trouble with the wizarding world," she said. "Practically everyone in the country went to the same school, so anyone near your age knows all the embarrassing childhood stories about you." As they laughed, Tonks thought hard; she couldn't remember Charlotte Perks, or for that matter Chesney; even though their time at Hogwarts must surely have crossed hers. Then again, first- and second-years never paid much attention to N.E.W.T. students, and vice-versa.

"How's your uncle?" asked Chesney with the air of a man trying to change the subject. Tonks could have kissed him. Mackenzie Ashford was precisely the subject she wanted the conversation changed to. "Didn't you all live with him? Sold animals, didn't he?"

The cousins exchanged dark looks. "Well, he's doing fine, apart from the fact that someone tried to … to _kill_ him," piped up Abby Ashford. "Didn't you know ... er, Chess? It was in the paper, I'm sure."

"Some nutter had a go at him as he crossed Clapham Common," explained Mickey in a rough voice. "Apparently he was very lucky to escape. An Auror was there and stopped the attack. He's OK now though."

"You're kidding?"

"Wish we were, Ches," said Charlotte Perks lightly. "I always knew the poor old dear would get himself in trouble without us to look after him."

"You used to live with him then?" Tonks picked up on this point with curiosity. She could vaguely remember this from the case notes, but as far as she could remember, O'Gregan hadn't gone into much detail.

"When we were at school, yes. We all moved out to make our Own Way In The World eventually." She pronounced this in a mocking voice that suggested capitalisation. "Even Mickey. Although he always did take his time before actually working, didn't you love?" Her cousin scowled at her. Tonks got the impression he'd been on the receiving end of this sort of comment a lot.

"Don't blame you mate," said Chesney. "Work's OK, but you don't want to do it for a living." The two men grinned at each other, recognising kindred spirits.

"Did your parents live there as well?" prodded Tonks. She remembered reading that their parents were all dead and that the three of them were Mackenzie Ashford's heirs. Unfortunately, the question caused the dark looks to return, and the apparent temperature dropped by about ten degrees.

"They were killed in the war," said Mickey shortly. He didn't seem inclined to elaborate. Tonks raised her eyebrows; the level of detail O'Gregan had put into his case background notes clearly left a lot to be desired. On reflection, she rather hoped she _had_ interrupted something important for the lazy git last night.

"We were just kids," added Abby, so quietly Tonks could barely hear her. "We had nowhere else to go. I don't even know what ... what You-Know-Who's people wanted with my parents." Tonks grimaced and nodded. She sympathised, but at least this line of conversation was getting her the first-hand impressions she'd wanted. _You're _supposed_ to ask pointed questions_, her teachers had told her. _You're there to get information, not to commiserate, unless you think that will get them to talk._

"I know what they wanted with _mine_," said Charlotte Perks viciously. "They _dropped in_ when Mum and Dad were visiting my gran and granddad. Kill the outspoken Mudblood and his parents! Send a message!" She let loose a string of expletives, applied to the Death Eaters so creatively that even the broadminded Tonks was taken aback. Chesney and her cousins didn't so much as bat an eyelid, however, presumably having had years to get used to it.

"I'm really sorry to hear that." This actually might be the time to commiserate "It must have been really horrible losing your parents like that. I can't even imagine what it would have been like." That wasn't actually true, as Tonks had had many such nightmares as a child ; but she didn't think it would be tactful to say so to people for whom the nightmares had come to pass.

"It _was_ horrible," said Abby, her voice trembling slightly. "Uncle was ... was really very good about it. It's hard now ... now we don't get to see him much." Tonks made another mental note to look up the background details, and then berate O'Gregan for leaving them out of the reports. It certainly made Mackenzie Ashford seem a lot more human.

"You don't see him much?" said Chesney, again relieving Tonks of the necessity of asking the question herself. The boy was certainly saying all the right things today. "Why not?"

"Because he's locked himself away because of this maniac who tried to stab him," said Mickey shortly. "I suppose we can't blame him for being nervous, but ... well, we're family, aren't we?"

"See what you mean, mate," said Chesney. "Do they know why the bloke did it?"

Charlotte scowled. "Not that we know of." She turned to her cousin again. "Mickey, didn't you say you heard on the grapevine they think someone put him up to it?"

"That was the gossip. They ... er, cursed him or something?" He looked at Chesney appraisingly. "I suppose your friend here might know more than we would, he's in security. You work for the Law Enforcement Patrol then, mate?"

"Oh no, I'm just moonlighting," said Chesney cheerfully. "Tonks here is the one you want to talk to about that. She's an Auror." The cousins looked at her in a slightly shocked manner, and she sighed; Chesney's perfect average for saying the right thing had just taken a nosedive. She'd been hoping to avoid revealing her job, and _this_ time she could have kicked him, especially as she couldn't quite remember how much information had been made public.

_Ah, hang on, that's a thought._ "Well, we're not really allowed to talk about cases that are under investigation, I'm afraid," she said smoothly. "Anyway, two of my colleagues were assigned to that case, not me."

"In other words, even if you did know anything you wouldn't tell the chief suspects what it was?" said Charlotte ironically. She directed a slightly malicious smile at Tonks, who realised that she must be looking embarrassed at this candid remark by ... well, one of her chief suspects. "Anyway, you know where to find us all this week, so Uncle Mac should be safe for the moment. Even from a black sheep of the family like me."

"Charlie!" said Chesney Thompson in protest.

She shrugged. "Telling it like it is, Ches. The half-blood poor relative, always suspicious. I'm surprised _her lot_ –" she nodded at Tonks "– haven't arrested me already."

"Charlotte!" This was Abby, sounding equally scandalised.

"You're being a bit paranoid, girl," said Mickey uncomfortably. Tonks looked between the three cousins with interest. "Come on, let's ... let's just enjoy ourselves while we can, eh? No-one's saying we're ... master criminals or anything."

"'Her lot' don't care that much," added Tonks quietly. "Especially when 'her' is one of 'you lot'. I'm half-blood too, as if it mattered a damn. So give it a rest, eh, love? You don't get sent to Azkaban unless you've actually done something. If you haven't, you've nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, well, nothing personal but that's what you Ministry types always say, isn't it? Doesn't always work out in practice, does it?"

Tonks shivered a little, despite the warmth of the day. "Personal experience?" she said, slightly too aggressively.

"No, I just read the papers. And the occasional history book," Charlotte replied, also with an edge to her voice. The others looked between them nervously.

"Hey, this is the World Cup!" said Chesney, a little too heartily to sound entirely natural. "Let's not spoil it by quarrelling over crime and politics and stuff like that. I'm sure none of _you_ would do anything terrible." He turned to Mickey Ashford. "Who do you reckon will win, then?"

"Er, Ireland, definitely," he said, catching Chesney's mood and seizing on the change of topic with obvious relief. "Got to be. Krum's managed to get Bulgaria past a few decent sides, but he's the only player they've got who's up to the quality of the Irish. And Lynch is at least as good, I reckon, so he should be able to keep Krum away from the Snitch until his Chasers have got the game under control. My money's on Ireland by at least 200 points."

"Right, I'm off to put a bet on Bulgaria, then," said Charlotte Perks in what was doubtless intended to be a joking voice. It came off as slightly strained to Tonks' ear. "Because whenever you back a Hippogriff at the races, Mick, it usually turns out to have three legs and a broken wing."

"Not this time, Charlotte," he said confidently. "It's as good as a sure thing."

"I think he's right," said Chesney. "You won't get good enough odds on a straight Ireland win, the value bets are elsewhere. With the Seekers being so good I'd say the match being over before midnight is a decent punt. Er, if I were a betting man, that is." He looked sideways at Tonks, who grinned at him.

"Well, I had five Galleons on a double of Troy being top goalscorer for Ireland _and_ scoring more goals than the entire Bulgarian team. Sound worthwhile, Mr Non-Betting-Man?"

Chesney grinned back. "He takes the penalties, doesn't he? That's a safety bet."

-----

Tonks was unable to direct the conversation away from sporting matters after that, the cousins seeming to tacitly agree not to discuss any touchy subjects. Since she didn't want to reveal her particular interest in them, eventually she prised Chesney away with a reminder that they were supposed to be patrolling.

Nothing much of interest seemed to be happening, except for Rhiannon and Will Poppleford ticking someone off for staging a miniature Quidditch match outside their tent with action figures. Then, as her gaze tracked around the main field, she suddenly stopped dead; she could actually feel her jaw dropping.

"Hang on ... that can't be ... what's _she_ doing here?" She pointed at a black-haired woman on the opposite side of the field, chatting to a young man as they headed for the path that led through the woods to the stadium.

"Who?" said Chesney in confusion. He didn't get an answer, and hastily followed at Tonks' heels as she strode across the grass. The man and woman had disappeared from view by this time; Tonks raced along the path after them and skidded to a halt as she caught up, just managing not to cannon into them.

"Mrs Hallendale?" she said incredulously.

Angelica Hallendale turned around, looking just as startled as Tonks had been. "Miss ... _Tonks_?" she said. "What's the matter?"

"Is there a problem, Ny ... er, Tonks?" said the man hesitantly. She glanced at him for the first time, and recognised Montgomery Hallendale again.

"Not exactly, but ... what are you _doing_ here, Mrs Hallendale? I don't understand."

Mother and son exchanged looks. "Um, I don't either, really," she said. "Why shouldn't I be here? We've got a booking."

"But ... you're a _Muggle_. Nothing personal, but if the Muggle-Repelling Charms on the stadium aren't working, we've got a serious problem on our hands."

Chesney coughed. "I don't think they reach out this far, Tonks," he said apologetically. "When you were checking the Top Box guest list, I was looking at the security handbook for something to do? According to the map it's just the stadium itself and a ring of about a mile around it. It's twenty minutes walk away, you know."

"Oh, I see." Tonks felt deflated for a moment, but then the logic of the situation reasserted itself. "But that means that Mrs Hallendale won't be _able_ to get much further along this path anyway. The charms must kick in before you get to the end. You must have _known_ you wouldn't be able to show your mum the stadium, Montgomery?"

"Er, Monty, please. Using 'Montgomery' makes you sound a bit too much like my mother." He smiled tentatively.

Angelica Hallendale bit her lip. Tonks wasn't sure if it was from nervousness or to stop herself from laughing. "I do _hope_ he'll be able to," she said. "It would be a shame to waste the ticket."

"_Ticket?_" Tonks felt her jaw drop again. "How the hell were you expecting to watch the match?"

Angelica sighed resignedly, glanced at her son for a moment, and turned to Tonks with slight trepidation. "Montgomery was going to cast the counter-charm for me," she said. "That's all right, isn't it?"

"What? _No!_" said Tonks with indignation. "It's completely against the regulations!" She rounded on Montgomery Hallendale, and suddenly smiled at the irony of the situation. "Roles reversed, then, Monty?" she said. "Who's breaking the rules now? Makes being out of bounds in the Arithmancy classroom seem like small change, doesn't it?" She grinned evilly as he gazed at her open-mouthed.

"Miss Tonks, I didn't mean to cause trouble," said Angelica with a trace of alarm.

"Oh hell. Listen, we thought about how to handle this if anybody should ask, and decided we'd just say, oh, er, I mean that it wasn't anything illegal, and, well ..." began Montgomery, finding his voice at the same moment, but Angelica flashed him a look that clearly said _shut up, son_. He did. Tonks smiled to herself; his mother obviously had him well trained.

"Miss Tonks, I _really_ didn't want to cause trouble," she repeated with a placating sort of smile, obviously choosing her words with care. "But I can't be the only Muggle who wanted to see the match, can I? I mean, I read in the _Prophet_ that Quigley was Muggle-born, and surely his parents will be here?"

"I wouldn't know ... but that's besides the _point_, anyway," said Tonks in exasperation. "You're _not_ the mother of a team member, are you, unless Monty has talents I don't know about/"

"I'm sure he does," said Angelica, who seemed to be fighting to keep a straight face. "But there must be a few other exceptions?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

Chesney coughed again. He seemed to be trying to do it as tactfully as possible, but Tonks glared at him in irritation. "_What?_ Was there more in that handbook I missed?"

"Rr ... yes? I _think_ it said something about Muggle spectators going to the Security HQ to have the charms counteracted? You had to show a ticket and be vouched for by a wizard or witch to prove you knew what was going on, and sign a bunch of forms to say you wouldn't tell anybody, on pain of activating a hex and all that, but ..."

"Ah. Right." Tonks cursed silently. _Why didn't you fill us in on this, Rhiannon?_ she wondered, far too annoyed at being made to look foolish to care if she was being unfair. "OK, then. Yes. You'll need to go to the HQ tent and ... and do whatever the procedure is." She addressed Montgomery again. "But it _still_ isn't something you should have been _freelancing_ on. What do you think we have security _for_, eh?"

"I'm sorry." His mouth twitched, which suggested he too was seeing the ironic side of the situation. "Are you going to dock points from me?"

Tonks struggled to keep a stern expression on her face. "No, but maybe I ought to put you in _real_ detention for this," she snapped. "And it'd be a lot worse than doing lines, let me tell you."

"_Azkaban_?" he said, eyes widening in shock. "You aren't _serious_, are you?"

"Well, you haven't actually done anything yet, have you?" She suppressed a grin as the earlier conversation sprang to mind. "But you've still got plenty of time to earn yourself a ticket there if you don't watch your step."

"Don't even _joke_ about such things, Miss Tonks," said Angelica with a shudder. "That hellhole has to be a parent's worst nightmare. I guess a mother would do _anything_ to keep her son out of that place."

Tonks maintained her poker face. "I dare say. But then, only one known person has ever escaped from the Rock, and his mother's dead and she wouldn't have wanted him back anyway." She could feel three pairs of curious eyes staring at her, and lost her desire to grin. "Oh all _right_, I'm just trying to put the wind up you a bit. I should probably report this or slap a fine on you or something, but I don't want the paperwork, OK? Just make sure you do it properly now." She pointed back to the campsite. "Off you go."

She followed the Hallendales as they walked rather sheepishly back along the path. Her curiosity, as so often, got the better of her. "How did you even get interested in Quidditch anyway, Mrs Hallendale? Montgomery – oh all right, sorry, Monty – didn't play at school, as far as I remember?"

Angelica Hallendale looked back and smiled at her. "No, but Hank became quite a fan, once he got over his disappointment that there weren't any pro Quodpot teams over here. He used to take me along, and I got hooked too. He'd have been pleased the Tornados are doing so well." The smile wavered for a moment. "It's one of the few things in the wizarding world I can really be bothered to keep up with nowadays. Montgomery got tickets for us."

"I see. Is your other son here as well?"

"Clark?" The smile definitely wobbled at this, and there was a sadness in her voice. "He'll be arriving eventually. He's got some sort of business to do, he always has, or so he says. Doesn't want to spend time with his dear old mother, I guess."

"Well, surely not so old," put in Chesney cheerfully. "You don't look old enough to have a son Monty's age ... well, certainly not for a Muggle anyway."

That definitely put the smile back on Angelica's face. "_Thank_ you," she said, grinning broadly. "I think I rather like your partners, Miss Tonks. You seem to pick them well."

"Oh, that's just luck and natural talent," said Tonks brightly. They'd reached the end of the path by now, and she pointed them in the direction of the Security HQ tent on the other side of the campsite. "Seriously now, can I trust you to do this the proper way?"

Angelica raised a hand. "By the Honour of the Hallendales. That do?"

"I suppose it'll have to. And if you don't, I'll set Cassius onto you, all right?"

"It's a deal. Ready, Montgomery?"

"Yes, just a moment. Er, Tonks ... " He hesitated. "Oh, never mind. Nice to see you again, even if one of us does seem to cause the other trouble every time we meet." He smiled, nodded, and followed his mother across the field. Tonks watched them as they went, with Monty pointing at the tent and throwing his hands up in exasperation; they seemed to be having quite a heated discussion

She glanced at her watch and looked up at Chesney. "We're already ten minutes past the end of the shift! You see where being conscientious gets you?"

"Yes. Late for lunch. Really bad move."

Rhiannon Davies was still grumpy over lunch, but an afternoon's sunbathing cheered her up considerably, and by the time they'd finished the evening shift she was prepared to admit Tonks had actually played a pretty good joke. Tonks grinned and nodded, and made another mental note to watch out for the inevitable counter.

"What's the plan for tomorrow, Leader?" she called as they settled down for the night. "We've got a lie-in in the morning, haven't we?"

"Change of schedule," muttered Rhiannon sleepily. "We're down to do the early shift again. Make sure you're up bright and early. I've set the alarm."

"Right you are." Tonks chuckled to herself under cover of the darkness, recognising the feeble attempt at revenge. She'd seen the list of shifts in the security tent, and knew they hadn't changed. And she'd noticed her companion charming the alarm clock so that only Tonks could hear it. She waited a few minutes for Rhiannon to fall asleep, then pointed her wand at the clock and whispered a Silencing Charm

_Nice try, Rhi_, she thought, grinning as she shortened her hair again and curled up to sleep. _But not this time._

_----- _

_Monday 24__th__ August 1994_

When Tonks woke up, it took her a moment to realise that the alarm hadn't rung, and she smiled to herself. In the other bed, Rhiannon was still asleep; Tonks briefly considered teasing her with a loud "Rise and shine!" but decided it would be kinder to let her wake later and realise her trick hadn't worked.

It was possible to almost _feel_ the excitement around the site when she stepped out, as people rose and realised that the waiting was nearly over, and the Quidditch World Cup Final really _was_ tonight. Tonks smiled happily as she surveyed the site.

Nearby, a group of Irish supporters were dancing an impromptu jig to the tune of a fiddle played by one of their number (or at least, he was making an acceptably good show of pretending to move the enchanted bow by himself). By contrast, a small group of teenage Continental witches were doing a peculiar dance to music from a Muggle radio, which seemed to involve jumping from side to side with their feet together. On the other side of the field by the taps, a teenage boy was waving to a pretty girl and spilling the water he was carrying, to the obvious amusement of his friends. A portly wizard strode past; his enormous handlebar moustache would easily have been his most impressive feature if it hadn't been for his purple skin. In the section set aside for those with cheaper seats, a wide-eyed girl with straggly blonde hair was chattering away to a man Tonks assumed to be her father, as he was smiling indulgently at her over-the-top enthusiasm. And closer to home, noises from the next tent indicated that Chesney Thompson and Will Poppleford were stirring.

"What time is it?" came a bleary voice from inside their tent.

"About 8.15," called Tonks, listening to their muffled cursing and belatedly realising that this didn't really qualify as a lie-in. She decided to leave them to it and just play tourist; so she took the path through the woods to the stadium, intending to have a good long look before the crowds arrived. When she reached the end, she caught her breath. Although the information packs said the stadium was big, seen close up that word somehow failed to convey sufficient depth of meaning – in the same way that _dangerous_ was an inadequate description of an angry dragon. The golden walls were almost blinding in the bright morning sunlight, and Tonks could feel her jaw dropping as she strolled around.

She stepped into a small foyer to take a closer look at the elaborately worked crests of world Quidditch teams lining the walls, only to be stopped by a harassed-looking little wizard. "You can't come in here!" he said fussily. "Ministry organisers and security staff only!"

"Oh, er, I _am_ security staff," said Tonks, putting on a placating smile. She dug into her Muggle jeans for her now crumpled ID and held it out for him to see. He frowned at its appearance, but after tapping it with his wand and muttering some incantations, seemed mollified.

"Very well, Miss ... ah, _Auror_ Tonks –" he noticed her job description on the document and looked quite impressed "– you're allowed to be here. What did you want?"

"Ah, well ..." She hadn't really wanted anything in particular, but felt the need to make up some story to stop him looking down his nose at her. "I thought ... I'd take a look at the stadium before I go on duty tonight, get a feel for where I'm supposed to be?"

"Excellent idea," he said happily. "Where are you stationed?"

"Er, actually, I'm not sure," said Tonks, suddenly realising she didn't have that information. "Do you have a map? We're Team 14."

"Of course, of course," he said, pulling a large key from his robes and opening a door with it. Tonks poked her head inside and was surprised to see a large control room like the one in the Ministry Atrium, with security maps of the stadium on the walls. Then again, there had to _be_ extra precautions that she, as a junior member of the team, didn't know about. Presumably somebody would watch the VIP sections on one of these maps, so if, say, an ex-Death Eater tried to sneak into the Top Box along with the Minister and the Boy Who Lived, he'd be spotted immediately (except in the unlikely case that he had the same name as someone meant to be there). Tonks looked for the dot with her own name and found it, next to someone with the prosaic name of Arnold Smith.

"It's _so_ nice to see someone as young as yourself being this responsible, Auror," said Smith, chattering away brightly. "Most people your age would just slack off when they had the chance."

"Oh, quite," said Tonks with a straight face.

"You will be stationed _here_," said the wizard, oblivious to this, indicating a point about a quarter of the way along the pitch from one of the goal hoops. She brightened: _a pretty good place for viewing the match._ "Would you like me to show you how to get there?"

Tonks looked at the map and tried to memorise the maze of twisty little passages, all alike, between her current location and the exit to the pitch. She failed dismally. "Thanks, Mr Smith. Yes, perhaps you _had_ better show me."

She followed him into the bowels of the stadium, hoping that she'd be able to find her way out again. When he threw open the last door, the change from dim torchlight to bright sunlight temporarily dazzled her. She stepped through, looked around, and gaped.

"Well, Auror Tonks, what do you think of it?" said Smith with a touch of quiet pride. "We've been working on this all year. We've managed to make it rather impressive, haven't we?"

"No kidding, mate," she murmured. If the stadium had looked imposing from outside, that was nothing to how it looked once you were inside. Tonks, despite herself, felt slightly overawed. "Could I ... er, take a look around? It's amazing."

Smith smiled happily. "Yes, of course, it's a real ... well, 'Theatre of Dreams' as our younger workers have started to call it. Please do, but you'd better check in with the central security team." He pointed to a small group clustered around a table in the middle of the pitch.

"Yes, I will. Thank you, Mr Smith," she said, giving him a genuine smile. To her relief, she recognised a woman standing at the security table as a senior Auror, who grinned, signed Tonks in, and pretended to believe her story about wanting to check her working conditions.

"Better take a good look around then," she said with a wink. "You might need to know what it all looks like."

Tonks grinned back and went off to tour the stadium. Even the cheaper seats appeared to be quite comfortable, nothing like the plastic buckets at the football matches her father had occasionally taken her to when she was a kid. Everything structural seemed to be made of pure gold, and all the walkways were covered with soft purple carpeting. It had doubtless been done with powerful Aurum Charms and temporary fixing spells on Transfigured flooring, but still, it was highly impressive and must have cost an unbelievable number of Galleons.

A few broomsticks and a slightly battered Quaffle lying near a pair of open doors caught her eye, and she wandered over to take a look. The brooms were even more ancient than her Comet Two Sixty, and she guessed that they might be for use by the staff checking the alignment of the goal hoops. She was about to move on when it dawned on her that the doors were the exit from the changing rooms, and in a few hours time _Troy, Moran, Krum_ and the rest would be flying out of them ready to start the Final.

Tonks hesitated and gazed around, but no-one seemed to be looking in her direction. She almost began to walk away; but realised immediately that she was unlikely to get another such opportunity. And it wasn't as if she was planning to _damage_ anything ...

She quickly grabbed one of the brooms, ducked into the tunnel, and Transfigured her Muggle clothes into a reasonable facsimile of England Quidditch robes; then picked up the Quaffle and flew out, imagining herself to be a Chaser flying out for the World Cup Final – a childhood dream she'd acted out many a time on her toy broom, although lack of talent had put paid to any ideas of making even the House team. She flew a slow loop around the stadium, pretending she could hear the roar of the crowd, and grinning slightly shamefacedly at how childish she was being, then pointed the broom and rocketed towards the goalposts. She took careful aim, hurled the Quaffle at the centre hoop, and couldn't restrain a whoop of triumph as it flew through, only clipping the ring slightly as it went in.

"Oh very good, Miss Tonks." She nearly fell off at the booming voice magnified by a _Sonorus_ charm. She spun round in midair and saw a new wizard looking up at her from the security table. Crimson with embarrassment, she flew down slowly, changing her clothes back to normal and trying to compose an excuse. As she landed, her heart sank as she recognised the wizard as Robards. He pointed his wand at his throat and muttered "_Quietus_," then gazed at her sternly.

"Erm, I was just, well ..." She trailed off. It was blindingly obvious what she'd been doing, after all.

He held her gaze for a little while, then the edges of his mouth quirked. "Don't worry. By my count, you're the thirty-fourth person to do that so far this year." He smiled at her relief. "About time you went back to work, though."

-----

Tonks' patrol with Chesney was uneventful, and they spent most of the time just chatting and joking, but to her surprise Cassius was waiting for her when they returned to their tents, talking to Will Poppleford. She grinned and raised her eyebrows. "Didn't expect to see _you_ here working, Cassius."

He blinked, then smiled. "Well, I didn't feel like camping out at my age. So I decided to stay at home and just Apparate in on the day. How's security duty going? Caught anyone sneaking into the stadium and doing something they shouldn't yet?"

"Er … no. Anything interesting happening?" she asked quickly.

"Nothing much, I'm afraid. Although William here was just telling me about the conditions the Wizengamot laid down in the deal that kept Arkwright out of Azkaban. One of them allowed the Magical Creatures department to make periodic inspections of his house and grounds to ensure he wasn't keeping anything he wasn't supposed to. It might be worth our while to tag along on the next one and keep out eyes and ears open."

"What _is_ he allowed to keep?" Tonks asked Poppleford.

"Anything that doesn't actually eat people," he replied with a shrug. "No, hang on, I'm wrong. The judgement said he needed permission to keep _any_ magical creature." He sniggered. "Probably all he has now is a few Kneazles. I think he asked to breed fancy Hippogriffs, but they even turned that down. He wasn't too happy, but from the gossip I heard, he wasn't _quite_ so venomous about your Ashford bloke the last time we talked to him."

"Right." Tonks hesitated, but couldn't see any way of discussing what she wanted to with Poppleford around. "Er, show you the tent, Cassius?"

"Oh, good idea," he said, cottoning on quickly. "I wondered whether you had to rough it. If you'll excuse us, William, and, er, Chesney? I'll just see if they're treating my staff well."

"Or in other words, you want to talk about meeting Charlie yesterday, and don't want us to overhear anything confidential," said Chesney, laughing. "Go on, don't mind us. We'll just put our feet up a bit before tonight."

"Right. Good." Tonks didn't like being so transparent, but it did make things easier. She'd hoped to find Rhiannon in the kitchen, but wasn't particularly surprised that she wasn't there. Cassius' mouth twitched.

"Well, I take it Rhiannon left to ... consult with another mutual colleague," he said tactfully, as they took seats at the table. "I should have told her I was dropping by. Anyway, the main thing is for _us_ to compare notes. I gather you've talked to some of our suspects?"

"Exactly." Tonks quickly summarised her conversation with the Ashford cousins, and for light relief described her encounter with the Hallendales. Cassius frowned.

"Oh dear. I'll have to have a quiet word with young Angelica." He chuckled tolerantly. "I get the feeling that she – and her husband – never exactly played according to the conventional rules. I imagine it _would_ alarm that son of hers."

"It did when I threatened him with jail."

"Really? I'm not surprised. She said the other son – Clark – has been in trouble a few times."

"He has?" said Tonks, taken aback.

"Yes … reading between the lines, I'd say his father's death hit him badly, but she doesn't like talking about that. Apparently he used to pick fights a lot, but wasn't very good at fighting spells – so he usually ended up getting hurt as well as falling foul of the Patrol."

"I see." Tonks wondered how Cassius had got her to explain this in the first place, but put it aside as not really her concern. "Anyway, what do you think about Little Miss Oversensitive and the rest? Ashford safe or not?"

Cassius paused for thought. "He should be for the moment. And to be fair, there isn't any actual evidence against them, it's just that they're obvious suspects." He scowled. "In particular, we haven't found a connection with this Blackstock girl, who I freely admit is a puzzle to me."

"She couldn't have been Mickey's girlfriend, could she? The one he seems to have split up with?"

Cassius smiled. "Nice try, Tonks, but Donnacha and Arnold already considered that possibility. Of course, they haven't had time to talk to everyone who might know them, but no-one has reported seeing them together. In fact no-one can remember Portia _ever _having had a boyfriend, other than dates approved by her parents as potential suitors with a view to making a good match."

Tonks grimaced. "Ugh. Blackstock's really going the high society route, isn't he? My mother's lot have been marrying their kids off to 'good blood' for generations. Half the time that meant their cousins. I suppose I'm lucky I only change shape instead of having two heads."

"Their 'lot' were my family's lot as well," Cassius reminded her quietly.

Tonks blanched. "Sorry."

"That's all right," he said with dignity. "Although yes, it _is_ silly. But that's the way elites anywhere tend to behave."

"I suppose." She leaned back in her chair. "She's not likely to have much luck catching a nice respectable boy, is she? The old pure-bloods don't like social climbers."

"Oh, I don't know," said Cassius with a slight smile. "Considerable beauty often wins a man over, whatever his views on ancestry. I ... well, I've seen it happen many a time. Look at the Hallendales for a start." He paused for a moment. "And if you want to be technical, Portia Blackstock _is_ classed as pure-blood. She only has Muggle ancestry in her great-grandparents."

"Wouldn't have been far back enough for the Blacks," Tonks pointed out.

"Well no, but they were always very strict, weren't they?" Cassius replied with obvious embarrassment. "I suppose my family were _fairly_ strict, but it wasn't an article of faith, just a ... a social viewpoint. They thought marrying into Muggle blood was dreadfully common, but they didn't consider it obscene." He smiled tentatively. "How did we get on to this subject, anyway?"

"Sorry," said Tonks again. "So, er, _any_ possible connection between the Blackstocks and the Ashfords yet?" she said, attempting to bring the conversation back to safer ground.

Cassius shook his head. "Nothing much. I see from the lists that Mackenzie Ashford contributes quite generously to the same charity – the one whose annual dinner I met Portia at? – but lots of us do. Portia does a bit of volunteer work for them, a very worthy sort of activity. We'll have to check if the younger Ashfords have ever had much contact with it. Arnold's monitoring the situation."

"How's Mackenzie Ashford?"

"Donnacha tells me he's feeling edgy. Must be hard on the poor chap, really. I don't think he _likes_ keeping his nephew and nieces at arm's length, he more or less brought them up, after all." He sighed, with a sort of sympathetic frown on his face. "But he can see the sense in keeping them away just in case, even if it goes against his family feelings. 'Follow the money' isn't always the answer but it's usually a good principle for Auror work."

"I suppose so. You might have a chance to talk to the Blackstocks tonight, perhaps?"

"If I can – probably only in passing, though. I _could_ bring up the charity as a conversation starter. Wouldn't it be nice to be able to interview them officially without worrying we might be stepping on someone's toes?" He snorted. "We wouldn't be tiptoeing around like this with someone who _didn't_ know senior officials. I'm telling you, Tonks, if we don't get any further with this case in the next week or two, I'm going to do it anyway, and damn the consequences if he complains to his friends. It's not like I have career ambitions left. I fulfilled all those first time around."

Tonks smiled. "Well I've barely even started with mine. But if you ever want to get into a fight with Umbridge and her cronies, I'll be perfectly willing to hold your coat!"

--------------------------------

**Notes:** Nods to Manchester United (sorry), Whigfield (even sorrier), Douglas Adams, and the old computer game ADVENT noted for the record. Also various references to HP characters. :)


	12. Defence Against The Dark Arts

**11. Defence Against The Dark Arts**

_Monday 24__th__ August 1994_

The excitement and tension around the campsite continued to build throughout the day. The members of Team 14 tried valiantly to pretend that their own nervousness was solely due to the need to keep order, but eventually just gave up and admitted they were as eager to see the game as anyone else. Rhiannon explained they were supposed to be in position before the rush started, so it was no use just waiting for the gong to sound. Finally, she checked her watch for about the fourteenth time, looked up, and said, "It's time."

Everyone jumped up immediately. Chesney caught Tonks' eye and they grinned at each other. "Can we Apparate there?" he asked.

"Best not," replied Rhiannon after a slight pause. "Keep up appearances to the end, look you? Bring your robes and we'll change there."

As they made their way towards the wood, it was obvious that few campers were paying attention to anti-Muggle security. Rhiannon Davies bit her lip in indecision as they crossed the field – their path took them past many souvenir vendors selling blatantly magical merchandise – but she kept moving, muttering to herself, "I don't suppose it can hurt now."

Chesney glanced around, fell back slightly, mouthed the words "_I'll catch up with you_," at a curious Tonks, and headed off towards one of the more successful-looking saleswizards.

The area around the stadium was still fairly empty, but there were now far more Ministry witches and wizards milling about. Gawain Robards was standing by the main entrance as they arrived, directing teams to their positions, and when he saw Tonks his face almost broke into a smile.

"Team 14, I see," he said. "You'll know where to go anyway, Auror Tonks?"

"Yes sir ... I looked it up," she replied, carefully avoiding both his eye and the curious looks of Rhiannon and Poppleford.

"Good." His mouth twitched again, but he made no further comment as he handed them small compasses charmed to home in on their designated spots. It was the first sight of the interior for Tonks' companions, and they gasped as they strode out onto the grass. Tonks didn't need to pretend to be impressed. Now that night had begun to fall, the entire stadium seemed to be generating a golden glow from within itself that made it breathtakingly lovely to look at. The last few leftover pieces of construction kit dotted about the place in the morning had been removed, the pitch had been marked and magically mown to appear like green baize, and testing messages were running across the giant scoreboard.

They quickly reached their places and donned robes over their Muggle clothing. Chesney caught up with them a couple of minutes later and flashed a secretive sort of grin at Tonks, but before she could inquire about this she was distracted when someone nearby called out, "Hey, Rhi! Dora!"

Both Aurors looked over to see Bentley Williamson waving at them from the next section. "Hi Ben!" Rhiannon called back cheerfully. "We were supposed to keep undesirables out. but I suppose we'll make an exception in your case!"

"Ha bloody ha," he replied without rancour, strolling over to speaking – rather than shouting – distance. "Don't tell me, let me guess ... you'll be supporting Ireland? I don't suppose Don would ever speak to you again if you didn't."

"Of course I'm not," she said piously, but unconvincingly. "As accredited Ministry security staff, we are strictly neutral, and merely hoping for a good clean game with lots of open play."

He grinned. "Yeah, pull the other one, it's got bellringing charms on. How about you, Dora?"

"_Naturally_ I'm strictly neutral, despite the fact that I've got Galleons on the outcome. Not that that will influence my actions in any way during the game," she added hastily. "Oh, and I've told you before, _don't call me Dora!_"

"Right. Keep telling me, I might remember one of these days." His grin turned into a near-smirk. "Of course I, as – what was it, 'accredited Ministry security staff' – am also strictly neutral and here merely to ensure there isn't any trouble. I have no interest in the match itself, and the Omnioculars I have in my pocket are purely for the purposes of crowd control." He looked back to where his team leader was staring at him meaningfully, waved, and hurried off, calling back over his shoulder. "See you after the game sometime!"

Rhiannon looked after him with slight chagrin. "Omnioculars! Damn! I never thought of that, they'd really have come in handy. For crowd control, of course."

Chesney coughed. "Well, since you mention it ... I saw a bloke on the campsite just now who had obviously been selling magical devices of that nature in a location where a Muggle might have seen them. Dear me, how horribly illegal," he said solemnly. "So I told him, well mate, I'll just have to confiscate these last four pairs you have. You can pick them up from the security tent at the end of the match. You know," he said thoughtfully, "in the rush, I think I might have forgotten to hand them in? Perhaps we could make good use of them. For crowd control, of course."

"Ches!" Rhiannon looked horrified. "We're not allowed to do that! That's ... that's abuse of authority. Or, well, something."

"So arrest me!" He threw out his hands in a dramatic gesture. Each hand contained a set of Omnioculars. "Bind my wrists and haul me away, ladies!"

Tonks grinned at him. "Only in your wildest fantasies, mate."

Davies looked at him uneasily. "You know, I'm really disappointed ..."

"... that we didn't think of it first," finished Tonks. She took one of the pairs of Omnioculars from his hands. "We'll put you under arrest later, but for now we might need an able-wanded wizard or two. But since you're here, you'll have to do instead."

Chesney pretended to look hurt. "Fair enough."

Tonks turned away, hiding her smile, and tested out the Omnioculars with a sweep around the stadium. She fought hard not to giggle as she caught sight of the exit from the changing rooms, from where the teams would shortly emerge looking _much_ more convincing international Quidditch players than she had. And then a loud, booming, magically sounded gong note reverberated through the stadium, and Tonks felt a thrill of anticipation. She exchanged glances with the others, who clearly felt the same.

The noise level in the stadium grew slowly as the crowd filtered in, drowning out their nervous attempts at conversation, and even the string of terrible jokes from the next section that Williamson was telling loudly in an attempt to hide his own nervousness ("How do you spot a Canadian dark wizard? They go _Crucio_, eh?").

Tonks took the opportunity to use the Omnioculars to survey what she mentally dubbed the 'Smethwyck Family Block'. Marcus Smethwyck the administrator was already in his seat, but for a moment or two she couldn't spot Cassius – then she smiled as he emerged from the stairway, deep in conversation with the Blackstocks. He broke off with a cheerful wave, and Tonks swung the Omnioculars to follow the suspects as they took their seats. It was the first time she had been able to examine them – at what at least _appeared_ to be close range.

Archibald Blackstock himself seemed pretty much as she'd expected; self-assured, dignified, well-dressed; slightly portly, and subtly – but definitely – putting on a show. His wife was playing her part well too, looking every inch a woman to whom high social status came naturally. The notes said that Vanessa came from a prominent wizarding family, whose financial situation had worsened to the point that they were struggling to maintain themselves in the manner to which they wished to remain accustomed. The match must have been made to measure for both of them.

Tonks adjusted the controls and zoomed in on Portia in order to study her. Seen in close-up like this, she had to admit that Farley's memory hadn't played him false – she _was_ a honey. Both her parents were nice-looking, but she'd clearly inherited the best of both. However, if any of them were planning nefarious acts, they weren't giving any visible indication of it; in fact Portia was gazing around with almost childlike enthusiasm, for all the world looking like Cassius' recollection of her as 'quite a _nice_ girl'.

Tonks lowered the Omnioculars and grinned. After her own earlier activities, she wasn't really in a position to complain about childishness. And, considering what she'd got up to at school – in fact, considering what she'd done over the weekend – she knew perfectly well that a butter-wouldn't-melt expression was no guarantee whatsoever of innocence.

These thoughts, and Williamson's final attempt at a joke ("Did you hear the one about the troll, the hag and the leprechaun ..."), were interrupted by a booming voice from high in the stands that she immediately recognised as Ludo Bagman.

"Ladies and gentlemen ... welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The cheering, shouting, applause, and general mayhem swelled in volume, echoing off the huge bowl of the stadium, to the point where several members of the security teams winced and put their hands over their ears until it had abated. Before very long a hundred or so Veela that the Bulgarians had brought along as mascots streamed out onto the pitch and begin to dance, at which point the spectators became much more interesting. Tonks and Rhiannon shared a grin at the clear divide forming; most of the wizards were watching with rapt attention, but many of the witches with them were – well, if not actually disgruntled, certainly far from being gruntled.

Tonks realised with mild concern that the effectiveness of the security teams had also taken a knock. Will Poppleford at least had had the presence of mind to turn round and put his hands over his ears as soon as he realised what was happening, but Chesney Thompson was staring at the dancing Veela with a dazed expression; and in the next section Williamson looked as if were on the point of striding onto the pitch to explain how he'd just solved every case on the Department's books single-handedly. Rhiannon took pity on him and fired a Stinging Hex his way to distract him.

"Blondes are just your type, aren't they, Ben?" called Tonks merrily, as he hastily turned away from the Veela and rubbed his smarting hand.

"Shut up, _Dora_," he shot back in furious embarrassment. Tonks gave him an ironic wave.

The Irish leprechaun display that followed was a lot less eventful, at least until leprechaun gold started falling out of the sky. Tonks watched the behaviour of the crowd in surprise; there was actually some danger of fist-fights breaking out as spectators scrabbled for the coins. The security teams, called upon for the first time, moved in closer to discourage them.

"What on earth are they doing?" yelled Tonks. If she was being honest with herself, she didn't want to be distracted from the Final by having to provide actual security. "They won't even have time to _try_ spending them, the match is about to start!"

"_You_ know that, _I_ know that," shouted Poppleford. "These foreigners won't know what leprechaun gold does though, will they?" Chesney nodded; he gave the impression of being quite pleased not to be the only one making a fool of himself. Tonks sighed and pointed her wand at the stands, ready for immediate use if necessary. Fortunately, before the situation could get out of hand, the teams began to fly out onto the pitch, and the scuffles immediately quietened.

Tonks and her team were able to spend most of the next hour watching the match, with only an occasional glance at the crowd. It quickly became clear that Bulgaria were outclassed, and that unless their young prodigy Krum came up with the Snitch within the next few minutes, or their Beaters managed to take out at least one Chaser, Irish eyes would be smiling that night. As Krum and Lynch hurtled towards the ground at about twenty minutes in, Chesney leapt up and down in excitement, only to sag with disappointment when it became clear it was only a feint.

Tonks caught Chesney's eye and mouthed at him above the noise. "Bad luck, mate. Plenty of time yet before midnight, though." He grinned at her rather guiltily, but didn't say anything.

As the match continued and Bagman continued to bellow out his commentary, she realised her own wager was looking good value. Troy was leading the line with great energy, and putting away the occasional penalty too. The only cause for concern from the security point of view was that the Bulgarian support was growing increasingly annoyed at the way their team were repeatedly penalised for foul play.

"Uh-oh," said Rhiannon quietly as the leprechauns rose into the air yet again to add their own commentary on the latest penalty to Ireland. "Look at the Veela."

"Er – we'd better not, actually," said Chesney hastily, and Poppleford nodded vigorously in agreement. Tonks snorted and turned to see what she meant, and felt her heart sink. As far as she could tell through the swarm of leprechauns on their side of the pitch, the Bulgarian mascots were starting to look like very fed up magical creatures indeed, and had begun to dance _at_ the Irish mascots and supporters.

"Blonde bombshells don't look too chuffed, do they?" she muttered.

"No, they don't – oh no, _now_ what?" said Rhiannon in exasperation, as Bagman roared something about sending off the Veela, who had at least stopped dancing for the moment. Chesney very cautiously spun the replay dial on his Omnioculars, and winced.

"Referee got a blast of it, by the look of things," he said. "Poor sod. Don't blame him for wanting to put a stop to it ..."

"Can he do that?" asked Rhiannon warily, as two Bulgarian players started to argue with him and the Veela looked on with very defiant expressions. "Please mate, don't make it worse – oh no, not _you bloody lot again!_" For the leprechauns, who had been growing increasingly exuberant as Ireland piled on the points, had formed themselves up to make another sarcastic remark in the direction of the Veela. Team 14 breathed a collective sigh of relief as Mostafa the referee contented himself with merely awarding Ireland penalties. The Veela tossed their heads and glared at him sulkily, then started muttering to each other in an ominous-looking way.

"Is it just me or do you think something might be about to kick off here?" said Chesney with foreboding as the match resumed. Bad tempers were being displayed all around. "Not looking good, is it – _yow!_" They dived out the way just in time as a Bludger, aimed in the general direction of Troy by a Bulgarian beater flying high above him, missed them by inches and tore a ten foot long skid mark in the turf before flying off again in search of players to unseat.

"Right, that's it, I'm _definitely_ supporting Ireland now," muttered Tonks, as she picked herself up from the ground. If even the players were causing trouble, things weren't looking good. She glanced up as the crowd roared its disapproval at yet another Bulgarian foul, and watched with trepidation as the leprechauns took Mostafa's whistle blast as a signal to form up again. She groaned when she saw the _pointed_ gesture they were making in the direction of the Veela.

Rhiannon Davies evidently had the same idea. "Oh hell. Wands ready!" she cried out urgently. The others didn't need telling twice. Irate Veela were already charging across the pitch. "Will? You're the magical creature expert here, what can they do?"

"They – well, _that_," yelled Poppleford, pointing to the nearest Veela, who was already hurling fire at the leprechauns. Seeing Rhiannon's alarmed look, he quickly added, "It's just ordinary flame, not enchanted, but it's still dangerous!" He pointed in the direction of some nearby security guards, who were firing Stunners at the Veela with limited effect. "And their magical blood means they're very resistant to simple spells!" Tonks groaned again. As many of the Veela transformed into their part-bird forms, Poppleford added, somewhat unnecessarily, "And watch out for those beaks and claws, because they're _bloody sharp!_"

"Understood!" Everyone was having to yell now to make themselves heard. The security teams threw themselves into the fray, attempting to keep the Veela back with a random assortment of spells. Meanwhile the leprechauns were giving as good as they got; they were zooming around, pelting the Veela with coins, and once or twice were nearly mistaken for Bludgers by the Beaters. Tonks quickly abandoned any hope of watching the play until they had it sorted out. Unfortunately, the confusion was such that no-one seemed able to coordinate efforts to get things back under control.

She dodged a blast of fire from a peeved Veela, yelped in pain as a flying leprechaun collided heavily with the side of her head, and finally in exasperation just Conjured a large shield, enchanted it to be feather-light for the bearer, and swung it around in front of her in an attempt to keep the two sides apart. Out the corner of her eye she could see Rhiannon trying to simultaneously listen to a supervisor yelling instructions, direct her own team, and keep the nearest mascots from killing each other. Chesney and Poppleford were having an even harder time, as the Veela only had to change back into their usual form and dance to distract the male security staff.

"Will ... you ... STOP THAT!" she yelled in frustration at one of the aviform Veela, who was flapping her wings threateningly and trying to get past the shield to attack a group of leprechauns jeering at her from behind Tonks. Irritated, she turned on them: "And you lot can SHUT UP TOO!" She reinforced this by quickly jabbing her wand at the giggling leprechauns and muttering "_Silencio._" At least that seemed to work; they clutched their throats in surprise as the Veela shrieked with what Tonks assumed to be laughter.

The noise from the fighting was so loud that it took her several seconds for the screams from the crowd to register. She chanced a glimpse up at the game and momentarily forgot what she was doing; on the other side of the pitch the two Seekers were hurtling towards the ground. Fortunately this was drawing the attention of many of the combatants as well. Tonks winced as Lynch mistimed his dive for the second time of the night and slammed into the ground. The Veela next to her leapt up and down and screeched with laughter again, as many of her companions rushed towards the Irish Seeker and trampled all over him for good measure.

It took a moment for Tonks to notice the great roar building up inside the stadium. Confused, she glanced up at the scoreboard – _surely Lynch didn't get the Snitch?_ – and felt her jaw drop when she realised that _Krum_ must have caught it. The leprechauns were going berserk; Tonks gripped her wand and shield again in preparation for the Veelas' reaction, but fortunately for all concerned the end of the match seemed to have disheartened them. As the Irish national anthem blared out they returned to human form, looked at each other despondently, and glided back across the pitch to their original places. Tonks wasn't the only member of the security staff breathing a sigh of relief.

"Oh, well," said Chesney philosophically to Tonks as they returned to their station. "At least we got to see most of it."

"Yeah. Pity about the riot, wasn't it?"

He smiled somewhat weakly. "I know. Having to do actual work to provide security wasn't in our contracts, was it?"

"You should have read the small print, mate."

They grinned companionably at each other as the Top Box, high above them in the opposite stand, suddenly lit up like daylight for the presentations. Tonks quickly took her Omnioculars out of the pocket of her robes and focused them, grimacing as the Bulgarian team trooped by and she saw Krum in close-up. Clearly he must have taken a Bludger to the face at some point, and he didn't look good. She couldn't help grinning though at his double-take as he passed by a girl on the way out of the Box. Her face wasn't visible to Tonks from this angle, but obviously she had to be something really special to get the attention of the international Quidditch star, who probably had to fend the witches off with a Beater's bat normally.

They all cheered loudly as Troy and Quigley lifted the vast golden trophy and began a lap of honour. Eventually the crowd began to troop out of the stadium when the festivities were over; the Bulgarians first, looking rather glum, the Irish last of all, already beginning celebrations that looked as if they might go on indefinitely.

Tonks smirked at Rhiannon as they watched them go. "Do you think Don will be able to keep this lot in order then?"

She snorted at her. "Donnie? He'll be leading the revels. We'd better go down there later on and take a look. We're still technically on duty for another few hours."

"Do you think we'll need to break anything up?" asked Chesney with a touch of concern.

Rhiannon shook her head. "Might have to ask them to tone it down a bit, but after a pitch invasion – well, it can't get any worse than that tonight, can it?"

-----

_Tuesday 25__th__ August 1994_

'Tone it down a bit' turned out to be an optimistic request when they eventually went to tell the Irish supporters their celebrations were going on a little bit too long. Everywhere, they were met with the riposte that the _craic_ of winning the World Cup was far too good for any self-respecting Irishman or Irishwoman to let pass without an all-night party at the very _least_.

"Oh, stuff this," said Rhiannon finally, voicing the general opinion to the relief of the others. "Will, Ches, you can go back if you like – we'll talk in the morning. Tonks, I'm going to see if I can find Donnie, want to come along?" There was an unspoken _just to make sure he's not getting into any trouble Scrimgeour will hear about_, and Tonks nodded as the other two disappeared gratefully.

"Where is he anyway?"

"I don't know," she said with foreboding. "There were a group of them together in a line of posh tents. Let's check there first, shall we?"

As it turned out, they didn't have to look very far. Donnacha O'Gregan was standing with a bottle in one hand and a lit wand in the other, attempting to conduct a chorus of _Galway Bay_. Rhiannon coughed loudly to attract his attention, but she might as well not have bothered as the impromptu group bellowed out the next verse with particular vigour.

"_For the strangers came and tried to teach us their way, They scorned us just for bein' what we are, But they might as well go chasin' after moon beams, Or light a penny candle from a star ..._"

"Muggle-borns," muttered Rhiannon, giggling; she'd apparently met them before. She stepped into the light. "Donnie! Ignoring me, are you?"

He turned to look at her, swaying slightly, and stopped singing. The others carried right on. "Rhiannon me darlin'!" he cried. "My love! The only woman in the world for me! I could never ignore you!" He dropped the bottle, scooped her up, and kissed her with such enthusiasm that it actually drew cheers from the singers. She made a face at Tonks with a sort of resigned amusement, but didn't seem particularly displeased.

"My love, my love, we won, _we won!_ And now you've come to celebrate with us! My night is complete!" He swung her around happily in what was probably meant to be some sort of Irish dance, but one obviously best performed on a smaller Guinness intake. He soon tripped over his own feet and they fell in a heap on the floor, to further cheers from the spectators.

Tonks fought to keep a straight face, without much success. "Hey, Don, that's _my_ move!" she said, grinning, as they picked themselves up; Rhiannon looking slightly flustered, but also smiling.

"Tonks!" He pulled her into the hug and kissed her too, but on the cheek with a sort of exaggerated circumspection, and declared in a stage whisper, "You're a sweet colleen an' all, but you're not the love of my life now. Otherwise I'd have kissed you properly, I would." He looked over his shoulder at his girlfriend and winked.

"Got him well trained I see," said Tonks ironically.

"Oh, the poor boy doesn't need training, look you," she said. "He's just hopelessly smitten, aren't you dear?" She came up and put her arm around him, which at least kept him upright.

"That I am," he said. "Let's CELEBRATE!" He accepted the whiskey bottle that one of his smirking companions pressed into his hand and took a long pull from it, then tilted it to Rhiannon's mouth. After a slight hesitation, she smiled, took a swallow and looked at Tonks uncertainly.

"We came to tell you to _stop_, Don, actually," said Tonks, taking pity on her. "Yes, yes, I know it's a craic and all that, but give us a break, eh? You don't have to work in the morning, but _we_ do. We'll have the boss breathing down our necks if we're not careful."

"Oh yeah? Rufus Scrimgeour is a fine fellow indeed but he can go and ..." The last few words came out slurred, which was probably a good thing under the circumstances. O'Gregan shook his head. "Now it may be that I have had too much to drink," he said in wonderment. "Can that ever be so for an Irishman?" Tonks bit her lip to repress a giggle. He _still_ talked blarney even when drunk.

"Come on, my darling," said Rhiannon gently. "Let's get you back." She took the bottle from his hand, returned it to its original owner, then nodded to Tonks. Between them they propped O'Gregan up and helped him across the field. It was slow going, partly because he swayed alarmingly on every other step, and partly because he insisted on bellowing out _Mountains O'Mourne_ at the top of his voice with the emphasis in all the wrong places, and half the people they passed decided to join in.

"_Oh, Mary, THIS London's a wonDERful sight, With PEOPLE here workING by day and BY night ..._"

"Mary, eh? Who's she?" teased Tonks. O'Gregan looked at her blearily and started again.

"_Oh, RHIANNON, this LONdon's a WONderful SIGHT, WITH people HERE working BY DAY and by night ..._"

"Don't encourage him, Tonks," said Rhiannon, wincing slightly but glancing at O'Gregan with affection. They took a firm grip on his sleeves and pulled him along, semi-oblivious as he sang. Tonks glanced between the two of them and bit her lip. She had to admit to herself that she didn't quite understand their relationship.

"Um, Rhiannon ..." she began hesitantly as O'Gregan looked away, fixing his eyes on his girlfriend as he launched into the third verse.

"_There's beautiful GIRLS here, oh, never YOU mind, Beautiful SHAPES Nature never DESigned, Lovely comPLEXions OF roses AND cream, BUT let me REMARK with regard to the SAME ..._"

"Yes?" Rhiannon said, looking at her.

"I've been meaning to ask …"

"_That if at THOSE roses you VENture to sit, The COLOURS might all ... COME AWAY on your lip, So I'll wait ... for the WILD ROSE that's waitin' for me, In the PLACE where the ... DARK Mourne sweeps down ... to the sea ..._"

"What?" she said, blushing slightly at his drunken, but obviously sincere, sentimentality. It was clear though that he was beginning to lose his thread. Tonks looked at him and shook her head. "On second thoughts, I'll ask you later," she said. The main thing at this stage was to get him back before he passed out on them.

His tent made their own look primitive – he'd obviously got quite a package deal. Tonks tactfully waited outside while Rhiannon settled her now semi-comatose boyfriend into bed, and steeled herself to ask the question she wanted to ask. She got the chance once Rhiannon emerged from the tent with a tender sort of smile; as they walked back, she said "So what was it you wanted to ask me then?"

"Oh yes. Right." She braced herself. "You know, you two, you seem very ... um ..."

"What?"

"Well ... sweet, I suppose? Sweet on each other anyway. So why _doesn't_ he get a divorce and make an honest woman of you? Well, as honest as you're ever going to get, anyway. Because he's Catholic? Because his wife is?"

"No, he's quite liberal-minded on that."

"Don't you want to? Happy with things as they are?"

"Kind of happy ... oh, of course we _want_ to, you idiot. It's just ..." She stopped there; after a few seconds waiting for her to carry on, Tonks exploded.

"_Well?_ What is it?"

"He's ... oh all right." She shrugged resignedly. "I suppose a lot of people already know, why not another? He got married young, straight out of school to this stuck-up little ... _tart_ from one of those posh pure-blood families who think they are _so_ much better than you because they've got some money. And of course, at that age they were so sure it was True Love –" her voice was becoming increasingly bitter "– that the damn fool signed the _magical_ wedding contract the bride's father insisted on before he'd give his consent. Of course, after a few years he found out what a total and utter _bitch_ she was, but it was far too late by then. He's been regretting it ever since, poor lamb. So have I, come to that."

"I see." She did see, sort of; she didn't know if Rhiannon's view of Norah O'Gregan was justified, but she could understand that she might be a little prejudiced on the subject. She hesitated, uncomfortably aware that tact wasn't always – or indeed often – her strong point. "Were you breaking up a happ... er, you know. Where did the fault lie? Anywhere?"

"Well she's a total cow and he's a good bloke, but ... oh whatever. It just didn't work out. You _know_ what it's like when you're eighteen. You go all weak at the knees over someone good-looking, and think you've found your perfect match. Then you realise you need to like each other _out_ of bed, too. They were already as good as split up by the time I came along, if that's what you're asking." Her face softened. "Donnie and I started working together, and well, things just developed between us. I was so happy when she left him and we could really _be_ together, I was practically dancing. So was he. He's a _good bloke_, my Donnie, really. But _she_ didn't like it that he'd got someone else. Dropped round to our house and waved the contract at him, and it all went rather pear-shaped."

Tonks nodded. "Right, this contract then. What does it say?"

She snorted. "Invokes dire penalties if he ever files for divorce without her consent. Her daddy didn't want his precious little girl's _heart broken_, did he? Hah! Fat chance. I've met goblins with softer hearts than she's got. And now the cow won't let him go because _he_ had the temerity to want to divorce _her_. I mean, she walked out on him in the first place! Well, OK, because of me I suppose." She smiled ruefully. "She doesn't like me for some reason. Can't think why."

"Nooo ... no, I suppose not." They walked back towards their tent in companionable silence for a while. As they approached, Tonks hesitated; but she couldn't not ask. She coughed.

"Er ... these dire penalties. What are they exactly?"

Rhiannon laughed, but didn't sound as if she found it especially funny. "Apparently they invoke a lovely little selection of jinxes. You know – foot-long nasal hair, skin bursting out in boils all over, and ... well, um, shrivelling spells. That sort of thing."

"Ah."

"Exactly."

"Can't you find a counter-jinx?"

Rhiannon scowled. "We probably could. Except it's illegal to break a magical contract. So if he does, she goes to the Wizarding Registry with the contract and gets him arrested, they give him a huge fine and he loses his job. Great, eh?"

"Oh well, so your boyfriend was a complete idiot. It happens."

They burst out laughing as they approached the tent, waving to the other two who were waiting for them outside, still discussing the match. When they heard the first _bang!_ Tonks winced, but assumed it was just overenthusiastic Irish supporters continuing to make a nuisance of themselves. Then the sounds of laughter and singing stopped suddenly as if a volume control had been turned down, giving way to momentary silence. And after _that_, screams began to break out from all over the campsite.

-----

Tonks and Rhiannon looked at each other for a moment, perplexed. From where they were standing, it wasn't clear what was going on, especially as most of the lights around the site had gone out. The other two members of the team hurried over, looking equally confused.

"What's going on?" asked Poppleford with urgency. "Are we needed?"

"Probably," said Rhiannon. She hesitated for a moment as the yelling was punctuated by more loud explosions, then came to a decision. "You boys can Apparate, yes?"

They nodded, and she said crisply, "Right, forget secrecy for the moment. All of you follow me. Aim for the centre of the field. Let's see what's happening, and _keep your wands ready_." She immediately spun and vanished; Tonks and the others exchanged quick glances and did the same.

They arrived in the middle of what could only be described as a stampede. Tonks was nearly knocked over several times as hundreds of white-faced campers raced past her, many carrying small children. Clearly none of them cared who was in their way as they fled whatever was causing the trouble. Others were taking a more direct route out of danger by Disapparating. The noise was such that it was impossible to make out what anyone was saying. Tonks had to fight against the rush – few people, other than Ministry officials, were heading _towards_ the source of the trouble – but gradually, as the crowds thinned and the noise abated, she got close enough to find out the cause, and she felt a sudden deep chill throughout her body.

There was still very little light, except for occasional flashes as spells were cast, but it was enough to reveal a phalanx of hooded and masked wizards marching steadily across the field, their appearance made even more sinister by the fact they were in semi-darkness. Above them, four people were spinning violently, helpless to defend themselves against what appeared to be spells pulling them in half a dozen different directions at once. Tonks recognised one of the victims as the Muggle campsite manager – she felt a momentary pang of guilt that she couldn't even remember his name – and the rest were clearly his family. It seemed equally obvious who the scumbags in masks laughing and jeering below must be, and why they had chosen these particular targets.

It was almost incomprehensible after all this time, but the _modus operandi_ was still familiar to an Auror, and too much so to anyone who remembered the war. They could only be Death Eaters.

For a moment, Tonks couldn't quite handle the mixture of reactions that sprang from this realisation – nausea, revulsion, and such intense anger that she actually shook with rage. Overlaying this, however, was a cold, stomach-churning terror that she struggled to fight down as it swelled unexpectedly from some deep place within her.

Tonks had not, of course, ever faced or even _seen_ actual Death Eaters, at least not when masked and going about their business. Her parents had done everything they possibly could during the war to shield her from such dangers. And these could only be the remnants of You-Know-Who's supporters who had managed to talk themselves out of Azkaban, the dregs of the 'Dark Army'. But the forgotten fears of her childhood that rose up were still almost overwhelming. Sights such as this had once been the stuff of her nightmares.

Then again, they were pretty bloody scary right here and now.

It took a frozen couple of seconds before Tonks was able to remind herself angrily that she wasn't ten years old any more. As she approached the advancing Death Eaters she let her Auror training take over, readying herself for a fight and looking for the members of her squad, who had been scattered in the riot. It was, of course, precisely the kind of situation the training was designed for, to help Aurors cope without having to think consciously about what to do, and she found herself beginning to assess the situation.

The Death Eaters were moving slowly but steadily across the campsite in close formation, with a central group keeping the Muggles in the air. They were well protected by a ring of wands, with wizards around the edge casting Blasting Spells to clear their path, and (to judge from the way spells cast by the security teams were bouncing off) putting up a complete perimeter of defensive Shield Charms. Tonks could feel her fury building as more hooded nutters came to join them as they marched, laughing loudly and apparently having the time of their life. Faced with this unexpected and almost military formation, the Ministry wizards and witches were forced into retreat. _They must have been planning this for months_, Tonks realised. _And I bet I've got a pretty good idea where they met up tonight!_

She scowled as a few wizards in Patrol robes tried Apparating behind the Death Eaters; but their defences were in place all around, and the attackers were picked off with well-aimed Stunning Spells as soon as they appeared. Others were casting Reductor Curses to blow holes in the ground in front of the advance to slow it down. This was marginally more effective; certainly the Death Eaters had to step more carefully and repair some of the damage before they could proceed.

She could hear someone – it sounded like Robards – bellowing in the background, issuing orders; it sounded as if he had a _Sonorous_ charm on him, but even that wasn't quite enough for him to be clear above the noise. He was warning his security teams that they had to synchronise their attacks, because they dare not risk letting the Muggles fall from sixty feet in the air. That made sense – that drop could kill a fully-grown wizard, let alone a small Muggle child.

Tonks quickly caught up with the action and formed up with the rest of her squad. There was little they could do, however, except keep up Shield Charms to protect their own group, and help to get injured campers away from the danger. She could see out of the corner of her eye that most people had had the sense to head for the woods.

The marchers, on the other hand, were able to use whatever spells they wished, and several Ministry wizards were being hit with spells. Two concerted volleys – the blasts echoing around the campsite like bombs – first shredded one of the more elaborate tents and then scattered its wood, metal, canvas, and posters of the Ireland team over a wide area. A tall ponytailed wizard, unable to get out of the way in time, fell to the ground clutching his arm with a yell of pain. For one horrible moment Tonks thought it might be Williamson; but in the next flash of light she spotted him about fifty yards away with his own team. From the expression on his face he was evidently as frustrated as she was.

Voices in the background – Tonks recognised Robards again, and now Barty Crouch as well – were still frantically yelling for order. Every now and then, a security team would fire a coordinated blast of Stunners into the Death Eater ranks, with others standing by the catch the Muggles if they were successful; but the Shield ring kept them well protected, and the spells just bounced off. Tonks' face contorted as she watched; for once, this was from sheer rage and frustration rather than a Metamorphosis. Her mind was running through every foul swear word she knew on a repeating loop.

Rhiannon Davies was trying to watch everywhere at once. Tonks followed her eyes and noticed two groups forming about a hundred yards away around Robards and Crouch, who seemed to be the only officials with any idea of what to do. Crouch was apparently gathering together all the Ministry officials he could find; Tonks recognised Theodosia Moon, head of the Apparition Test Centre, looking rather frazzled in a long woollen dressing-gown; a man with thinning hair she'd seen pass through the office many times on his way to work; and a bearded wizard who, from his appearance, had to be Will Poppleford's boss. Robards was calling loudly for team leaders to come to him. Rhiannon caught Tonks' eye and nodded in his direction.

"I'd better see what he wants!" she yelled. "Tonks, keep an eye on these two. Everybody, keep your shields up, and _watch yourselves!_" She immediately Disapparated, not even bothering to run the short distance. Tonks looked at Chesney and Poppleford, who were obviously waiting for her to issue instructions. She groaned inwardly; _since when did I become Sergeant Tonks?_ On the other hand, she had to give the appearance of knowing what she was doing.

"Try to slow them down a bit!" she snapped, remembering the tactic she'd seen earlier and saying the first thing that came to mind. "They'll be able to block _Impedimenta_, but try chopping up the ground in front of them with a few curses!" She was relieved when they actually followed her order without arguing, and _astonished_ when it seemed to help a little. She was so focused on this that when the situation changed, once again it took her a few moments to realise what was happening.

The screams, which had almost died down now that most people had reached the safety of the woods, suddenly broke out again all around, louder than ever. She heard Poppleford make a choking sound, and looked up.

She wasn't just chasing ghosts from the past; it seemed they were coming to chase her.

She'd imagined that she'd faced the worst of her long-buried childhood nightmares tonight. She'd forgotten that there was still one left.

It was now much easier to see what was going on around the campsite, because it was bathed in a sickly green light from a shape rising above the wood. Light from an actual, authentic, still nightmarish, but frighteningly real Dark Mark.

-----

_No. No. It can't be. Oh no. No_.

Tonks reeled. She'd never even considered the possibility of a flank attack, never suspected that someone might be waiting in the trees unseen and unsuspected, never realised they could pounce on the fleeing campers and kill at their leisure.

_No. You bastards. You _bastards_. No. No. You bastards. No._

Her mind was swearing repeatedly again, even if she couldn't make her mouth work to form the actual words.

I ... I ...

And that clammy knot of terror was tightening itself around her heart again, freezing her in position. She didn't _have_ words to express how it felt.

"_Noooarrrgh!_"

The sound that eventually broke from her lips wasn't so much a word as an animal cry. Tonks shook herself furiously, her anger directed as much at herself for having frozen as at the Death Eaters. There was movement in her peripheral vision and she turned to face them again.

Except ... they weren't there. As she watched, the last two or three marchers vanished. Her heart leapt into her mouth as the Muggles plummeted from the sky, but fortunately a few nearby wizards had the presence of mind to cushion their fall. They hit the ground hard, but not badly enough to break bones; and lay there white-faced, exhausted, and trembling, shying away from the mediwizards who rushed up with wands ready to check them for injuries.

Tonks gazed around helplessly, unsure what to do for a moment. She turned to look for Rhiannon ... but she wasn't there either. Robards was now on his own, yelling commands at coordinators, team leaders, and anyone else he could get to pay attention. All the people who had been around him a few minutes ago, including Barty Crouch's entire group, had vanished.

She didn't like to think where they'd gone, but had to shelve that thought as Chesney spoke to her uncertainly. "What do we do now, Tonks?"

She turned to him; both he and Poppleford looked as shaken by the recent events as she felt. Tonks glanced around; she had absolutely no idea what was going on, and didn't like the feeling one bit. Robards had gathered another group around him, and she spotted several people with team leader badges. "Over there," she said wearily, pointing. "Let's go and get instructions."

People came streaming out of the wood as Tonks, Chesney, and Poppleford tramped towards Robards. She had the horrible thought that maybe the Death Eaters had Apparated into the wood to cause more trouble, but relaxed slightly when she realised that there wasn't enough panic around for that. Maybe the Death Eaters _themselves_ hadn't been expecting it? Tonks shuddered. It surely couldn't be You-Know-Who back? _No. No way. _That _would certainly have caused panic._

Even Robards seemed unsure of what was happening in the wood, which didn't fill Tonks with confidence. He dispatched several teams to find out, and to the rest (including Team 14) barked out orders to check the campers and find out if anyone had been killed or seriously injured.

The chaos was gradually quelled over the next half an hour. There was no sign of the Death Eaters; it looked as if they had left the site completely, or (a more frustrating possibility) mingled with the crowd and pretended to have been running away. And it seemed she was not the only one to whom the idea of a flank attack had occurred. She had to fend off a number of hysterical people asking her if anyone had been killed. _Like I know any more than you do!_ she thought, but had enough tact not to say so.

Fortunately, before too long someone had the intelligence to dispel the Dark Mark, which calmed things down considerably. Tonks managed to overhear a Ministry team returning from the wood to report that whoever had sent the Dark Mark into the sky had apparently Disapparated immediately afterwards, and as this story spread among the crowd, the worst of the fears abated. Gradually, information came through from Ministry sources that no-one had been killed, although a number of serious injuries were being treated in a makeshift medical centre cobbled together in one of the larger tents. Tonks breathed a huge sigh of relief. There were still many rumours flying around that contradicted the official story, but it seemed to be accepted that whatever had actually happened, at any rate the Death Eaters had now vanished.

Of course, this proved to be only the start of their night's work. The Ministry arranged a central information point where people could inquire about missing loved ones; but trying to account for tens of thousands of people rapidly became a nightmare – especially as many spoke little or no English, and many more had Disapparated away and were unlikely to return when they had no idea if it was safe to do so. Sleeping accommodation for the remainder of the night had to be organised for people whose tents had been destroyed, or alternatively Portkeys away from the site to places where they could find a bed or transport home.

Tonks and her team were kept busy conjuring sleeping bags and helping to patch up damaged tents, although senior officials also prevailed upon some whose tents had survived relatively unscathed to allow people to shelter in them for the night. Tonks scowled as she heard Lucius Malfoy's drawling voice in the background, oozing sympathy and offering his luxury tent for the cause. She felt _sure_ he would have been one of the masked wizards, but there was no way she could prove that.

Gradually most of the remaining campers were catered for. There were still some people arguing vehemently about the damage to their property (and getting short shrift from Ministry officials with overstrained nerves), but Tonks suddenly found herself with nothing requiring her immediate attention. At some point in proceedings the orders she'd received had caused her to lose contact with Chesney and Poppleford, she had no idea at all where Rhiannon might be, and she still hadn't found out exactly what _had_ happened in the wood – but by now she was too tired to care. She found a chair that had survived the blasts, and collapsed wearily onto it, allowing her eyes to close for a moment.

-----

"It's been a tough night, hasn't it?"

Tonks opened her eyes again in surprise. As far as she could tell, she hadn't actually dropped to sleep for more than a few moments, but being suddenly addressed startled her. After a moment she recognised the voice, and the manner of speaking, of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"No kidding," she said. She didn't have the energy to say more.

He Summoned another chair from a nearby heap, tested it gingerly, and sat down next to her. She looked at him curiously. "What's the matter, Shacklebolt?"

He smiled. "Kingsley, please."

"Fine." She watched him; he seemed to be trying to make his mind up about something. "What's the matter?" she repeated. "_Kingsley?_"

"Nothing, as such ..." He studied her face for a moment, then shrugged. "I just saw you here and ... well, came over to apologise, actually."

Tonks blinked. She definitely hadn't expected that. "Oh, OK. Er, apologise for what, exactly?"

"For being suspicious of you when you joined us," he said, grinning. "I'm not considering the possibility that you're a Death Eater sympathiser any more. I saw you in action earlier on." He extended his hand towards her. "Apology acceptable?"

"Yeah … I suppose." After a moment's hesitation, Tonks gave a wan smile and grasped the proffered handshake, too tired to take umbrage. "And likewise, will you forgive me for thinking you were an utter pillock with an attitude problem the size of Mount Everest?"

Shacklebolt looked taken aback for a moment, but then grinned again. "Deal."

Tonks smiled at this and leant back on her chair, closing her eyes once more. He caught her before the chair could tilt over too far and deposit her on the ground. "Oh. Thanks."

"Don't mention it." She still had her eyes closed, but she could almost _hear_ him smirking. That reminded her of something. "Come to think of it, you'd _already_ stopped being hostile to me at work. What changed? I haven't fought any Death Eaters before tonight, I'm sure I'd remember if I had," she added bitterly.

He hesitated. "Ah, that. Let's just say ... I've come into possession of some interesting information. Perhaps we could have a talk at some point?"

That made her open her eyes and stare at him. "What sort of _interesting information_?"

"Related to the case I'm working on." He enunciated this even more carefully than usual, then paused to let the implication sink into her tired brain.

"Oh. My cousin. Right. What is it?"

"Not _here_." He looked around cautiously. "There's something I'd like your input on. As soon as Scrimgeour stops cursing us for tonight's fiasco, come and see me, all right?"

"OK." Tonks was puzzled, but it seemed clear that Kingsley wasn't going to give her any details tonight. "I didn't see you around," she said after a few moments of silence which threatened to become uncomfortable. "Were you on a security team as well?"

"No, but I was roped in at the last minute to help supervise when Crouch asked for more Auror assistance. Anyway, at one point I noticed you – and Rhiannon, and a couple of men I've never seen before – trying to get in the way of those nutters in hoods. If I'd still been inclined to doubt you, that would definitely have changed my mind."

She bristled slightly. "Oh thank _you_. You're quite sure I wasn't faking it, are you?"

"Quite sure. I don't think even a Metamorphmagus could have faked the expression on your face tonight when you were looking at the Death Eaters."

"What expression?" she asked, a little disquieted that her face had been so easily readable.

He shrugged. "Sheer hatred, I'd say. Disgust. Loathing. A bit of terror in there too, I thought."

"And you're OK with that? Not a problem that I'm letting _personal feelings_ get in the way?" she challenged.

"Not if _you_ don't let them. And ... when you come right down to it, those aren't unreasonable personal feelings for an Auror to have."

"I see." She paused. "Even the terror?"

He gave her a reassuring smile. "Even the terror. And you _handled_ it, Tonks. You didn't panic that I could see."

"I did a bit at first," she admitted. "For a few seconds there I just froze, then ... I don't know, common sense kicked in. Self-preservation. Training. Something, anyway. I _had_ to act, didn't I? I was shocked by how much it affected me. I wasn't that scared last week when I had to fight four people at once in that stupid alley!"

"But _they_ weren't your worst fear," he said quietly. "And you weren't the only one affected. When that Dark Mark went up ... I couldn't move for a few seconds either. It's been a long time since anyone saw one. For those of us who can remember the war, it was a real shock. It used to be _everyone's_ very worst fear ..."

"I _know_," said Tonks, equally quietly. "I _can_ remember the war, Kingsley. I heard more than enough to scare me silly, even though Mum and Dad tried their damnedest to make everything as normal as possible. You really think it's less frightening when you're a kid and you can't even _do_ anything about it?"

"I suppose not. Sorry." Tonks nodded acceptance, and he said curiously, "Did you see the Dark Mark before, then?"

"No, but I saw the news enough times ..." What he'd said suddenly registered. "Oh, you _did_, then? Were you qualified that far back?"

"No, but ..." He turned away, apparently looking at something on the far side of the campsite; but his eyes didn't seem focused on it. "Actually, You-Know-Who sent some of his crowd to the family of ... a good friend of mine. He was in at the time, as it happened. I arrived there, all unknowing, just in time to find the Aurors sealing the place off and that ... that _Mark_ floating over the house. I suppose ... after that ..." He trailed off.

Tonks, a little taken aback, patted his arm in sympathy. "So maybe I _didn't_ have it as bad as you, Kingsley. I'm sorry."

"Maybe not. I don't know. The only positive thing I could possibly take out of it was that at least I was forced to face that situation early and it toughened me up for Auror training." He sighed, still with that distant look. "It's not nearly enough, is it?"

"No, I suppose not."

"You never had the chance before tonight. Must have been hell as a kid though." He laughed rather weakly. "I'm surprised it didn't traumatise you for life."

"Yeah ..." She looked at the unexpectedly vulnerable man before her, and felt she owed it to him to confide something in return. "Well, actually, do you remember school Defence classes?"

He shrugged. "More or less. What in particular?"

"You remember how you had to learn to deal with Boggarts in ... oh, about third or fourth year?" He nodded. "Well, mine was always a Dark Mark hovering over the bodies of my parents. Even then, after the war was well and truly over." She chuckled, rather mirthlessly. "By then, all my classmates had settled down to nice _normal_ fears, like giant cobras or rogue dragons or being trapped in a burning building. Not me, Little Miss Stuck-in-the-Past though. Pathetic, isn't it?"

"Not really," he said thoughtfully, after a short silence. "I imagine it must have been more ... personal for you. In fact when I did it ... that would have been a very common Boggart." He smiled. "Obviously, you must have been born out of your era."

Tonks smiled back. "That could be it. Hey, you know what though?"

"What?"

"After this week, I think my Boggart might turn into Scrimgeour asking for an explanation of how I screwed up!"

Kingsley roared with laughter. "Yeah? Late to the party again, Tonks. I reckon that's been mine for years now."

-----

It was well past four in the morning by the time Team 14 were able to retire to their tents. As they were on the edge of the site, they'd survived the Death Eaters, and fortunately they hadn't been requisitioned to shelter campers who had lost their own accommodation.

Poppleford, exhausted, immediately went into his tent, and in a couple of minutes Tonks could hear snores coming from within. She and Chesney hung around outside, looking for Rhiannon. Tonks wasn't too worried, but didn't like the fact she hadn't turned up yet.

"Hell of a night, wasn't it?" said Chesney, his voice shaking slightly.

"No kidding," said Tonks. She looked at him with sympathy; it had to have been especially tough for security staff who _weren't_ law enforcement specialists. "Listen, Ches ... I'm sorry you and Will had to deal with that, all right? I mean, no-one expected more than a bit of trouble between the fans. Or at most, helping to break up that scrap between the blonde birds and the little people from the bogs. Asking you to face Death Eaters really wasn't on."

"You did it, though. I didn't see you looking terrified."

_You didn't see it, no ..._ "It's my _job_," she said gently. It seemed only fair to talk to him the way Kingsley had talked to her. "And ... well, as I've said once already tonight, I didn't find it that bloody easy either."

"No?"

"_No._ I was just as scared as you. And I'm trained for it. You're not. And it wasn't like you ran away or something. We all did what we could. It wasn't much as it happened, admittedly, but we tried."

"Right. Thanks. Wouldn't have wanted to let the side down." He looked away, obviously hesitating, then shook himself as if to clear his head. "Yeah, look, anyway, Tonks, I meant to mention this earlier, and I might not get the chance to ask again, so, er ..."

"Yeah?"

"You wouldn't care to, er, meet up somewhere?" He looked at her hopefully.

Tonks blinked. "Ches, hang on here. You're _asking me out?_"

"Yeah. Not great timing, I know. Well, absolutely lousy timing, actually, but ... you don't _have_ to, obviously, I just thought I'd ask while I had the chance, you know ..."

"Why me?" she asked cautiously. His face fell.

"Ah, like that, eh? Because ... well, you're single, attractive, and I like you? Pretty much the standard reasons really." He grinned, although he looked a little disappointed underneath..

"Oh." Tonks couldn't help herself; she grinned right back. "Well in that case, then ... yeah. I'd love to. I could do with a bit of cheering up." His face lit up.

"_Great!_ It's a date. Well, OK, it will be when we fix one. When's good for you?"

Tonks thought about her likely schedule for the rest of the week and blanched. "Owl me, OK? After tonight's disaster, we're going to be rushing round like house-elves at work. If I can prise my nose off the grindstone for a bit, it'll be a _relief_ to get out and have some fun."

Chesney smiled broadly, and turned to go. "Will do. I'll find something to take your mind off it all, no problem!" He winked and disappeared into the tent. Tonks stood for a moment with what she knew had to be a cheesy grin on her face – _well, _there's _a nice surprise out of the blue!_ – looked around for Rhiannon again, then gave her up as a bad job. She needed _sleep_, immediately.

As it happened, she didn't get it. No sooner had she crashed down on the bed and closed her eyes, too exhausted even to take off her robes, than the bell on her mirror phone rang. It was Auror Headquarters, letting her know that everybody was summoned to an emergency meeting later that morning at ten o'clock. Tonks moaned as she put the gadget down; the call wasn't exactly unexpected, but it obviously wasn't going to be any fun at all. And then as soon as she settled down again, Rhiannon stumbled in, looking if possible even more exhausted than Tonks felt.

"Rhi!" she cried. "Thank heavens for that. Where _were_ you?"

Rhiannon sank down on the other bed. "Chasing about setting people right, like you, I expect. And just now, telling the office what happened earlier on. About _five bloody times_, look you, until they were sure I hadn't missed anything."

Tonks pricked up her ears. "What did happen?" she said carefully. "One moment you were over with Robards and Crouch, then the next moment that ... skull went up in the air and you'd gone."

"Yeah. As soon as that happened, Crouch nearly blew his top. He shouted to everyone around him 'Follow me!' and they all Disapparated. Robards sort of rolled his eyes and said to us all 'And what are you lot waiting for?' so we went after them into the woods ..." She trailed off.

Tonks looked at her in exasperation. "_And?_ What happened when you got there? Who cast the blasted thing?"

"Well ..." Rhiannon sighed, but described her evening succinctly, with a smoothness borne of having had plenty of practice already that night. When she'd finished, Tonks stared at her in open-mouthed disbelief.

"Ooookay ... let me see if I got this. Whoever cast it was right next to the Boy-Who-Lived and his mates, and _used his wand_. And the wand was in the hands of the only person you found on the scene of the crime, which was _Barty Crouch's house-elf_, who claimed she didn't know anything. Then Crouch took her into custody _personally_ without letting you interrogate her, and promised to clothe her as punishment?"

"Pretty much."

"What the _hell?_"

Rhiannon threw up her arms in a gesture that suggested both complete absence of understanding and a strong desire not to discuss the subject any further tonight. "Your guess is as good as mine. The office didn't believe me either, the first three times. Scrimgeour is probably scribbling his way through a stack of bright red memos as we speak. Can we leave it till morning now and try to get a _few_ hours sleep, at least?"

"Yeah, sure. I set the alarm for nine. Gives us plenty of time to wake up, and we can Apparate straight there. Someone else will have to do the Obliviation if anyone sees us."

"Right. Goodnight then. Sweet dreams."

_I really hope so_, thought Tonks as she settled down. _After tonight's shenanigans, it might be sweet nightmares._


	13. The Morning After The Night Before

**12. The Morning After The Night Before**

_Tuesday 25__th__ August 1994_

A weary Tonks and Rhiannon Apparated to the Ministry at half past nine the following morning, and as soon as they reached Auror Headquarters joined the queue for the coffee that had been thoughtfully provided.

As Rhiannon filled two large mugs from the spigot, Tonks noticed a copy of the morning's _Daily Prophet_ special edition attached to the wall with a Sticking Charm, and skimmed through it. It didn't make pleasant reading.

"Skeeter her usual fair and balanced self, is she?" asked Rhiannon bitterly, noticing what Tonks was doing.

"Yeah, let's see ... _Ministry blunders ... innocent campers fled in terror ... lax security procedures ... offenders escaped scot-free ... Dark Magic openly used ... it will take years for our country to live down this national disgrace played out in front of the entire wizarding world_ ... blah blah blah."

"Cow. Scrimgeour's going to be chewing rocks and spitting out gravel over this, and it wasn't even his responsibility."

"Yeah." Tonks glanced around; the office seemed fuller than she'd ever seen it before. "Have they got every Auror in the _country_ here?" she muttered, taking the proffered mug.

"Probably not, but I wouldn't be surprised if they had," said Rhiannon in a low voice. "Scrimgeour doesn't look happy, does he?" She nodded towards one end of the room, where Scrimgeour was sitting with a group of senior Aurors, deep in serious and rather heated conversation.

They made their way over to the cubicles, where Cassius and Donnacha O'Gregan were sitting, looking equally tired. Tonks raised her eyebrows.

"I thought you two were still on holiday?" she said.

O'Gregan snorted, picked up a piece of bright red parchment and waved it at them. "Not any more. All leave cancelled until further notice. Orders straight from Amelia Bones, no less. Do you get the impression they're a bit miffed at the way things went with those fellows in masks, now?"

Tonks grinned. "You've sobered up enough to work, then?"

"I was stone cold sober and working last night," he replied with dignity. "My darling girl here came to check on me, and I asked her to cast a Sobriety Spell so I could help." Rhiannon nodded in confirmation.

"And I came back to do what I could too, once I'd got the rest of the family out of harm's way," added Cassius tiredly. "Little as that was. You know, I thought I'd left this sort of thing behind me when I retired? I never expected to see Death Eaters on the march again."

"We're sure it _was_ them, then?" asked Rhiannon.

"Who else could it be?" said Cassius, shrugging. "Someone sent a _Dark Mark_ up into the sky, after all. No-one apart from them knew the spell or were able to cast it – not that anyone would have _wanted_ to."

"Scared the masked lot off, though," said Tonks, mulling it over. "I was watching them. When you think about it, it was a bit odd, really. They all vanished as soon as it appeared, and they didn't do anything else after that, did they? The ones I actually saw Disapparate looked like they were panicking." She glanced around speculatively. "It couldn't have been some other group trying to act big and make a name for themselves, and ... oh I don't know, suppose an ex-Death Eater got annoyed when he saw them cavorting about, and tried to throw a scare into them? '_Hey lads, you want to play at being Death Eaters? Well, meet the real thing._'"

"Might be, I suppose, but that doesn't sound much better," said O'Gregan, with a gloomy look. "If they _weren't_ You-Know-Who's old pals holding a nice little reunion party, it just means we've got another bunch o'nutters on our hands who like to dress up in masks and torment Muggles. Lovely. Either way, it'll be no fun for us now, will it?"

"Why do it _now_, though?" asked Rhiannon. "They've been keeping their heads down for years, why would they suddenly do this with the whole world watching and risk being exposed? You don't ..." She shivered, gulped, and continued more quietly. "You don't think they've got some sort of indication that You-Know-Who is on his way back?" The others shuddered.

"How would he do that?" asked O'Gregan, obviously trying to sound reassuring. "No-one's heard a peep from him for years, if he's even still alive."

"I don't know about that, Donnie," said Rhiannon in a worried tone. "He was supposed to be controlling that teacher that got killed at Hogwarts a couple of years ago." Seeing the looks of surprise from her colleagues, she added, "My little cousin Roger told me the story that was going round the school. He said everyone there seemed to know what had happened, even if no-one ever confirmed it officially."

"Right ..." said O'Gregan, discomfited. "Of course, the boys in masks _could_ just have been doing it because they'd had too much to drink."

Tonks bit her lip and cast her mind back to the way the wizards had marched across the field. "They seemed too well-drilled for that," she said. "Like they'd practiced it beforehand. The ones who came to join them _afterwards_ might well have been sloshed, but not the bunch in the middle ..." Her eyes widened in sudden recollection and she smacked her forehead, hard. "Oh, wait a minute ... I forgot!"

"What?" said Cassius, looking up with interest.

A few words, spoken in an immensely smug voice, came back to her: _'Father had some people to see. We had to provide them with somewhere civilised to meet.'_ She groaned. "I've just remembered. I met _my_ little cousin on the site – Draco, Lucius Malfoy's son? He said his dad was hosting a meeting there, and they practically had a bloody _marquee_! What's the betting they were doing some last-minute work on their moves ready for the big night?"

The others exchanged glances. "Malfoy? The slimy blond one who throws his money around and smarms up to Fudge? Not a bad shot," said O'Gregan judiciously. "What do you think, Cassius?"

Cassius was looking at Tonks with uncertainty, perhaps remembering her harsh attitude when Lucius Malfoy's name had come up before. _Damn. He thinks I'm overreacting. I knew I shouldn't have let my guard down._ "It's possible, I suppose," he said. "I wouldn't trust the man an inch, and I was never especially convinced by the way he got out of trouble after the war, but it's not _proof_ of anything. But it's an interesting piece of information," he added hastily, holding up a hand to forestall Tonks' indignant reply. "You'd better mention it to whoever's going to co-ordinate the investigation. I know Barty Crouch was furious about what had happened – I overheard him railing about the sloppy security last night, he was in such a rage even his poor house-elf was cowering at his feet." Tonks and Rhiannon exchanged glances, but forbore to correct Cassius – doubtless he'd find out the full story soon enough. "Crouch was absolutely sure that _someone_ must have useful information about the marchers. He went off trying to find Robards or one of his senior assistants to discuss it with."

O'Gregan snorted. "I don't suppose he found him then. I would think that we would have heard that conversation wherever we were on the campsite, now. Let us hope they have a plan."

"Right." Tonks glanced at her watch; it was still only five to ten. "I suppose we'll find out what they're going to do in a few minutes." She looked around curiously. "Where's Arnie got to, by the way?"

O'Gregan shrugged. "Haven't seen him. And we can't _contact_ the poor fellow, which is bloody annoying – they switched off access to all mirror phones, presumably so our Rufus won't get interrupted while he's yelling at us."

"They can do that?"

"Apparently," said Cassius. "K's department is always full of little tricks like that. I hope the rumour flying round that one of our senior people was thinking of retiring isn't referring to him – no-one else knows how to make half the stuff he comes up with. I've actually grown quite fond of these little gadgets."

"Me too," said O'Gregan. "I can even call me mam on them. Anyway, I'm not worried about Arnie; he probably just had something he needed to follow up. They can't drag everyone in here, can they now, not when they have cases that need looking into?"

"No, I suppose they ca ..." Rhiannon trailed off as a small group swept past them. Tonks looked on in trepidation as she recognised Amelia Bones, accompanied a couple of harassed-looking wizards she took to be her assistants, with Scrimgeour and Robards following.

O'Gregan whistled quietly. "Old Boney herself? Clearly it is that they are taking this _seriously_."

"I hope so," muttered Tonks, staring at the senior officials as they marched to the end of the room. Amelia Bones pulled out her wand and deftly conjured a small raised platform onto which they all climbed, then held up a hand for silence. The few people holding murmured conversations immediately fell quiet. She fitted her monocle into her eye, and looked around grimly.

"Right," she said in her booming voice. "You should all know me, I head this Department. This meeting is to tell you what we intend to do about last night's fiasco. And as far as I'm concerned the only good thing about _that_ is that the buck ultimately stops on the desks of Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman, not on mine. You don't have to write that down," she snapped at a Departmental scribe who was attempting to take minutes. He flushed and hastily dropped his quill.

"Be that as it may, however, we're the ones who have to pick up the pieces," she continued. "The Ministry have been embarrassed at a global event, and Cornelius Fudge wants action. So do I. I want those filth rounded up and _soon_. This is now a Priority A case." There were whistles at this. _Two Priority A cases now? Catching my cousin and catching the Death Eaters. There's a pattern here._

"Now I've spent most of the night with my head in a fire talking to other members of the Wizengamot, and we've come to an understanding. I'll have to go down there this afternoon to get it formally confirmed, but what you need to know is this. Firstly, from now on applications for warrants of any kind will be considered swiftly and with a kindly eye. If you need one to search a house or conduct an interrogation, apply. If you have any kind of evidence, you'll get it. That applies to coercive interrogation warrants too. The Chief Warlock has given his personal assurance that he sees, as he puts it, '_no objection to the employment of Veritaserum in serious cases_', and in an emergency he is even willing to grant permission for use on his own authority if necessary."

She looked around at their raised eyebrows and smiled very slightly. "Don't bother him _unless_ it's an emergency. He's a busy man, and he'll be off to the International Confederation conference in Stockholm soon anyway. Secondly, if you need resources to carry out an investigation, just ask for them. The Wizengamot will be putting aside a special allocation of gold from the budget to get results on this case. And we'll pull people out of other departments if we need to, just like we did when Black escaped. Hopefully it'll do some good this time. Thirdly, if you have any wild suspicions or half-arsed theories, don't ignore them, raise them. We'll take suggestions from cave trolls if they turn out to get results."

She gazed sternly at the assembled Aurors through her monocle. "But finally – _don't_ all go racing around like loose Bludgers on this one and lose sight of the _other_ important cases. You can let most of the minor enquiries go, but not your Priority B investigations. I have no desire to give Barnabas Cuffe any more chances to write _Prophet_ editorials complaining that we're letting murderers escape. Just use your brains, your initiative, and your _common sense_. You're Aurors, you're all supposed to have them. Right, any questions?"

There was complete silence in the room as the Aurors digested this information. No-one was foolish enough to ask a question.

"Right then," she said. "Rufus Scrimgeour here will personally take overall charge of the investigation and coordinate our efforts." Tonks could see Robards exchange glances with the other senior Aurors that had been on his security team; this statement didn't seem to be going down at all well with them. Amelia Bones chuckled and turned to the man on her other side: "I know you chaps on the security team are taking the events last night personally, but this goes beyond getting revenge. If I'm treading on anyone's toes, my apologies, now get over it. Gawain Robards here was the main Auror liaison at the World Cup, and he'll continue to act as liaison between the Auror Office and the other departments of the Ministry. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some long and tedious meetings to go to. Best of luck, chaps, and get me results." She nodded at the Aurors and strode out the room, followed hastily by her assistants.

Nobody spoke until the door had closed behind them, then Rufus Scrimgeour called for order. "Very well, you've all heard the Head of Department," he said brusquely. "Let's be frank with each other. Last night was one of the biggest cock-ups it's been my misfortune to see since I joined the Department. I'm astonished that no-one even _tried_ to come up with a way to get in among them or get those Muggles out of there."

"Like how?" The words were muttered sullenly by an Auror near the front; Tonks recognised him as her old classmate Bob Parsons, and winced in sympathy. Unfortunately for him, he had spoken just as Scrimgeour took a pause for breath, so his comment could be heard by the whole room.

"_How_?" snapped Scrimgeour, glaring at the man through his wire-rimmed glasses. "You were there, I take it? You're meant to be an Auror, man, aren't you?" He rounded on them as the hapless new Auror flinched. "Did no-one think to conjure themselves a hood and a mask, join that march, and try to break them up from inside? Or use a Disillusionment Charm on themselves and take advantage of the dark to sneak up on them? Or even just make a Portkey and Banish it towards the Muggles to get them out of there? Anyone?"

He gazed around at the expressions of chagrin on many of the faces. "No, none of you _did_ think, by the look of it. At least the amateurs on those so-called security teams had an excuse. They're not _supposed_ to know any better. This office has got sloppy since the end of the war! If the Death Eaters had wanted to fight the kind of battle they used to, we'd have a casualty list ten feet long this morning."

_Easy for you to say now, mate_, thought Tonks, _you weren't in the thick of it._ She could see, looking around, that a number of other people seemed to be thinking the same thing; but they all had enough sense not to actually say it.

"Right," he said, frowning. "Let's start thinking _now_. First of all, I need to see all the senior members of the security team in Madam Bones's office in ten minutes time, together with anyone who was acting as a World Cup security supervisor –" Tonks looked across the room at Kingsley Shacklebolt in sympathy, and saw him wince "– and anyone who went to investigate that Dark Mark and can perhaps explain to me what the _hell_ Barty Crouch thought he was doing." Rhiannon groaned. "Maybe we can _plan_ something for a change. The rest of you, start checking any leads you have. If you don't have any, go and find some. Put all your other cases on the back-burner unless they're both important and urgent. All right, let's _get to work_." He turned, Vanished the platform and strode out of the room.

Rhiannon looked at the rest of her team with trepidation. "Better not hang about," she said quietly. "Wish me luck." She got up and followed a disgruntled-looking Robards, a sombre Kingsley Shacklebolt, and a number of other Aurors towards the door.

Tonks scowled and turned to the others. "So I guess we don't go looking for potion salesmen, then."

"Oh yes we do," said Cassius in an annoyed tone. "We can't just drop everything to go poking in dark corners on the off-chance we might find an old Death Eater hiding there. As Amelia said, we use our common sense."

"But ..." O'Gregan hesitated. "Look, Cassius old son, old Scrimgeour did say important and _urgent_, didn't he? I'll grant you that this potion business is important, what with the Ashford case an'all, but it's not exactly urgent at the moment, is it?"

Cassius snorted. "Donnacha, you seem to be working on the assumption that this rush for results is going to _last_. This will probably turn out just the same as the Manchester Mayhem ... well, all right," he said in resignation at the blank looks on their faces, "I suppose neither of you were born when that happened, so let's say it'll resemble the Sirius Black case." He gave Tonks a very brief glance of apology. "In other words, there'll be a huge panic to start with, with everybody pulled off their normal jobs to chase around on the hunt, yes? Then after a few weeks with no-one getting anywhere, and everyone tripping over each other's feet, things will go back to normal and we'll start to investigate the case _properly_, the way we should have done in the first place. Except then we'll be a long way behind on all the _other_ things that have been neglected."

Tonks and O'Gregan obviously didn't look convinced, as he gazed at them in mild exasperation. "This is _politics_, Donnacha. I've seen it too many times before to get worried about it. We have to be seen to be Doing Something for the sake of keeping the _Prophet_ off our backs, even when there isn't anything we _can_ usefully do."

"We can keep our jobs, mate," pointed out O'Gregan. "That sounds useful to me. Myself and young Tonks here don't have eighty years experience to make us feel blasé about it."

Cassius smiled. "Oh. I'm sorry if I sound like a schoolteacher." The smile broadened into something approaching a grin. "I didn't say we shouldn't keep up _appearances_. No harm in letting Rufus and Amelia, or the _Prophet_ – or our suspects for that matter – think we're all working on this twenty-four hours a day. And yes, we can and should start fishing for information on Death Eater activity as well whenever we get the chance. But I _don't_ want to get a call in a few weeks time saying that Mackenzie Ashford has been targeted again, and know that we've taken our eyes off the Quaffle and could have prevented it."

Tonks and O'Gregan looked at each other. "And the Jacmel case?" she asked.

"The same there. I thought we'd agreed? The Ministry will have a _big_ problem if the stuff ever starts to be openly offered on the Dark Arts market, rather than just supplied by special favour. Especially if You-Know-Who's old crowd are going to become active again. The man Tonks met seems to be rather amateurish at the moment, if he's looking to people like Beatrice Easton for customers – but if he comes to the attention of people who used to be Death Eaters, he's not going to be _allowed_ to stay small-time. They gave us enough problems during the war with the Imperius curse, but at least there weren't many people who could cast that effectively. Any fool can use Liquor of Jacmel. I'm surprised they didn't try it – we were probably lucky that, apparently, they didn't have access to a regular source. The Haitians don't like selling it unless they know you well, remember? So we follow up our leads on this case as well. Agreed?"

"I suppose so," said O'Gregan, albeit with slight reluctance.

Tonks nodded. "We'll have to wait for that lot to work out their amazing master plan anyway," she reminded him.

He brightened up at this. "Very true. OK, what do we do?"

"Well for a start, in making that little speech I've just reminded myself how hard it is to get hold of a source of supply," said Cassius wryly. "I'll see if I can get in touch with my old contacts, and I'll ask the Caribbean Central Magical Registry if they know anything – that's new, you used to have to deal with all the little two-Sickle Ministries on each island ..."

He trailed off as his mirror phone started to ring.

Startled – Tonks realised that they'd all forgotten the things had been temporarily deactivated – he extracted it from an inside pocket in his robes and answered. She couldn't follow the long, rapidly-spoken monologue from the other end, but whatever was being said was obviously big news, as his eyebrows rose and his face first fell and then hardened.

"Caught a Death Eater, have we?" asked O'Gregan jokingly as he finished..

"No." Cassius looked at them rather sombrely. He seemed to be struggling to keep an _I-told-you-so_ expression from his face. "That was Arnold. He's at St Mungo's. While the World Cup was on, someone made another attempt to kill Mackenzie Ashford."

-----

Cornworthy was waiting for them when they Apparated into St Mungo's, sitting reading the newspaper in the corridor outside a private room. He appeared to be having great difficulty in keeping his eyes open.

"Morning, Don, Cassius, Tonks," he said gloomily. "Gather you had a bit of excitement last night?"

"You could say that," replied O'Gregan. "How's our boy?"

"Going to be all right, I think. I'm glad you're here, I've had to wait up on guard duty all night. Couldn't even get hold of any Enforcement Patrol people to help. Was that to do with the World Cup thing? It sounded bad in the _Prophet_ – they were talking about people being killed – but I didn't want to rely on what _they_ had to say about it."

"Very wise," said Cassius. "No, no-one killed as far as we know, but that was probably sheer luck."

"Oh. Missed all the fun then, I suppose."

Tonks, who was becoming increasingly impatient, interrupted them. "Arnie, we'll tell you about the World Cup later, mate. _What happened to Ashford?_ Cassius here didn't have time to tell us."

"Oh, right," said Cornworthy. "Basically, someone tried to poison him."

"_Poison_ him?"

"Yeah. His birthday was on the Saturday before the World Cup Final, and somebody sent him a box of his favourite Honeydukes chocolates with a card from his niece Charlotte. The analysts here have had a look at them, and they told me they were all laced with something called" – he pulled out a roll of parchment from a pocket and read from it uncertainly – '_aqua cordis debilitatio_'. Never heard of it before, to be honest."

"What on earth's _that?_ Is there a common name?"

He nodded. "The Heart-Enfeebling Potion. Ring any bells?"

To Tonks' surprise, Cassius' face went blank for a moment, and then he whistled. "Good grief. I haven't come across a mention of that one for a _long_ time."

"What does it do?" asked Tonks with curiosity.

"It's a slow poison meant to cause a natural looking death," he said grimly. "If I remember what I was told correctly – and it's been about eighty years, so I can't guarantee that – it was quite a popular little Dark Potion in Renaissance times, but it must be mercifully rare nowadays. There's a counter, Arnold, I hope?"

Cornworthy nodded in reassurance. "That's what the Healers said – they made him swallow a bezoar straight away while they worked out what it was, then when they found out they gave him a dose or two of antidote and a goblet of Strengthening Solution. He didn't get much of the poison anyway, so he should be perfectly OK. They're just keeping him here for a few days as a precaution." He consulted the parchment again. "They were quite excited to get a case. I got them to copy this out of some old book for me – apparently the stuff has a delayed action. It slowly weakens the heart, so then a few weeks later, any little shock and _bang_, fatal heart attack. It's out of the system by then so it looks like a death from natural causes."

Tonks shuddered. "Nasty."

"Why on earth did he _eat_ the bloody things in the first place?" cried O'Gregan in exasperation. "He knew someone was out to get him, and that it might very well be his precious nieces and nephew! I even gave him one of K's best poison testers! Why didn't he have the sense to use it?"

"He _did_, Don," said Cornworthy placatingly. "Or rather, someone used it for him – it was actually a good job he had it. He was a bit suspicious when the chocs arrived through the owl post, but he did have the sense to feed a few of them to one of his Crups. When it didn't drop dead he assumed they had to be all right." O'Gregan groaned and threw his hands up. "Luckily, the day after, one of the ex-Law Enforcement Patrol blokes he'd hired as bodyguards saw him eating them, asked where they came from, and did his nut when he found out. He told me he stuck the tester in one of them and it turned carmine – apparently that showed there was a slow poison in it – so he got Ashford straight here and called me. He clocked off about 2am so I've been here minding the shop ever since."

"Have you had a chance to interview Ashford yet?" asked Cassius.

"Sorry, Cassius, I haven't. The Healers were working on him to clear the stuff out of his system, and then they told him to get some rest. I think he's awake now though."

"Very well. Tonks and I will go and talk to him. Donnacha, if you wouldn't mind, just keep an eye out here in case anyone tries again. Arnold, where's the card that came with it?"

Cornworthy shrugged. "I managed to find someone in at Magical Analysis when I called. They sent a bloke round to collect it. He hasn't got back to me yet."

Cassius nodded. "Never mind. You'd better go and get some rest yourself – at least we managed to get a _few_ hours sleep. I'll see you tomorrow, if Rufus Scrimgeour doesn't invent something else for you to do first ... we'll tell you all about that later, as well," he added at the sight of his colleagues' raised eyebrows. "You look done in, old chap. Off you go." He turned to Tonks. "Right, young lady. Let's go and talk to our Mr Ashford."

-----

Mackenzie Ashford was sitting up in bed when they entered, staring blankly out of the window at a pleasant view of green fields under a bright blue sky. This confused Tonks for a moment, until she realised that it had to be a Ministry-style enchanted window, charmed to show picturesque scenes rather than a bustling London street for the sake of improving the patient's mood.

It didn't seem to be working as far as Mackenzie Ashford was concerned. From his listless attitude as he turned to them, Tonks wasn't sure for a moment if he was even properly conscious yet. But his eyes, although dull and red-rimmed, were fully awake. She was surprised he'd been so strongly affected. From what she'd heard, Ashford had sounded like a much tougher egg than this.

"Mr Ashford?" asked Cassius in a polite tone, although to Tonks it sounded as if the cheerfulness behind it was slightly forced.

"That's me," he said bleakly, his eyes returning to the window. They waited a moment for him to continue, but he didn't appear to be in the mood for initiating conversation.

Cassius looked at him thoughtfully. "Good, good," he said, ploughing on. "We'd like to talk to you about these chocolates you received. I understand that they were delivered by owl post with a card from your niece attached?"

"Yes."

"And you only ate a few of them, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And one of your bodyguards brought you here when he realised they were poisoned?"

"Yes."

"Very well ..." He seemed slightly disconcerted by the monosyllabic replies. "Mr Ashford, are you all right? We can leave this until later if you don't feel up to it."

Ashford continued to gaze out of the window with a distant expression. He gave the impression that he wouldn't actually have noticed if it had been displaying dancing polar bears. "No, I'm not all right," he said, in a voice that was so quiet that Tonks had to strain to hear him. "I'm not all right _at all_. I never thought it would come to this."

"To what, Mr Ashford?" said Tonks, putting all the kindness she could manage into it.

He winced. "My own flesh and blood trying to kill me," he said brokenly.

There was a slightly awkward pause while Tonks exchanged glances with Cassius, who appeared to be thinking hard. "I can't deny that's an obvious possibility, Mr Ashford," he said carefully. "And I know the idea must come as a shock to you. It would to anyone. But it may not be correct, even so. We need you to tell us as much as you can so we can determine the truth. Will you help us?" Tonks listened, quite impressed at the way he managed to sound like a sympathetic ear. Maybe it came with age.

Ashford stared into space for a moment or two, and Tonks and Cassius let him have time. "I brought them up," he said eventually. "I never married, you see. I always thought of them as if they were my own. They were only kids when ... when my sister and brother got themselves killed. Paul – he was my sister's husband – always did shoot his mouth off, and my brother Gavin used to back him up. Neither of them ever had the sense to take precautions." He finally turned to look at the Aurors; his voice was becoming slightly louder, but still remained soft and sombre, and the pain showed clearly in his eyes. "You know, at first I thought my worst moment ever was the day I was told the news that Amanda and Paul and his parents had been killed by You-Know-Who's bastards? Then I thought it was the day after, when I heard they got Gavin and Felicity too as they left work. Well now it's today. The day my own chil ... my own family tried to kill me."

"Were you sure the chocolates came from Charlotte, Mr Ashford?" asked Cassius gently. Ashford didn't seem to have heard him; his mind apparently wandering on its own path.

"Even when that ... when the knife attack happened, I didn't really believe _they_ had anything to do with it," he said, bitter anguish audible in his voice despite its lack of volume. "Oh of course, I got some bodyguards, asked the kids to stay away, shut myself up for a bit, just as a precaution, you know? I've crossed a lot of people in my time. I didn't know of anyone who'd really be serious about wanting to do me in, but I knew there _could_ be someone. But the idea that any of the kids would be behind it ... well, it just seemed ludicrous."

He caught Cassius' eye. "I was so _happy_ to get a birthday present from Charlie on time for once. She's usually late. And I was glad that she picked my favourites. Oh, I went through the motions of trying them out on the animals first, but I didn't seriously think they were dangerous. But if that bodyguard feller hadn't cottoned on ... well, they'd have been eaten and the box thrown away, and then a couple of months later I'd just have conked out and no-one would have been any the wiser, would they? The man earned his money, I can tell you. As did your colleague Don with that tester he lent me. He's a good lad. I'd like to thank him personally for that if I may."

"He's just outside," put in Tonks. "We'll send him in afterwards, he'll need to stick around to keep an eye out anyway." Ashford brightened very slightly.

"Thanks," he said. He shook his head. "_Charlie_. I always liked her the most, did you know that? I know I shouldn't have had favourites, but I did. She had ... well, _guts_. Took after her dad, I suppose. More nerve than the other two put together – well, you'd need it to send your own card on them, wouldn't you? But I always thought she was _decent_." He seemed unaware of the tear that was trickling slowly down his cheek.

"Actually, was the delivery of the chocolates suspicious in any way, Mr Ashford?" asked Cassius. "Our analysts took the card away to have a look at, but we haven't heard from them. Could it have been a fake?"

"A _fake_?" he said hopefully. "You think so? It _looked_ like one of her usual type – she always puts them on presents, you know, leaves it till the last minute and then doesn't have time for a proper card. Could someone else have Transfigured it or something?"

"It's possible," said Cassius noncommittally. "What sort of owl delivered the package? Did you recognise it as her own bird?"

"No, no, it was a public owl," said Ashford. "She always just uses the first one that comes to hand. I remember it had a little tag tied round its leg with a Ministry crest and something about the World Cup on it?"

"That's useful. We'll investigate that." Cassius was still keeping his voice carefully neutral. "Now, you say you've crossed many people. I know we've asked this before, but please consider it again – can you think of anyone who might have a particular grudge against you?"

Ashford thought hard, but eventually shook his head in disappointment. "Not really. Not this bad a grudge, anyway. Well, I suppose Peregrine Witherspoon might have if he knew I'd beaten him for the licence to import dangerous creatures." He smiled very faintly for the first time since they'd entered the room. "But I only heard about that myself just before ... just before I came in here."

The mention of dangerous creatures reminded Tonks of something. _And it's about time I asked a question, anyway. Earn my Galleons_ "What about Nathan Arkwright?" she said. "He claims he lost his private zoo over some cages you sold him, and he _definitely_ swore vengeance on you."

Ashford looked surprised for a moment, then snorted. "_Arkwright_? Did he? All mouth and no wand, that one. And if he'd used the stuff I sold him properly, he'd have been perfectly all right. Anyway, he got back in touch with me recently, wanted – no, _demanded_ – a few more of the things, so he couldn't have been too upset, could he? Gave him a discount, even."

Tonks and Cassius looked at each other. She was sure they were both thinking much the same thing. _Bit suspicious him suddenly getting all friendly again, isn't it? _She made a mental note to take a look at Arkwright when an opportunity presented itself.

"Very well," said Cassius. "We won't bother you any longer this morning, Mr Ashford. Oh, one question I must ask, I'm afraid. Who actually gets your money if you die? What are the terms of your will?"

The trace of a smile that had been on Ashford's face left it. "There are a few charity bequests, but basically it divides the estate equally among my nephews and nieces. It's worded that way, by the way. I drew it up a long time ago and left it open-ended in case I had any more nephews and nieces." He scowled. "Then Gavin and Amanda were killed ... so obviously, that didn't happen."

"I'm sorry, Mr Ashford," said Cassius. He sounded as if he meant it. Tonks was aware that she hadn't contributed much to the interview, but Cassius did it so smoothly she was quite happy to let run with this sort of thing. _Watch and learn, girl_, she thought wryly.

As they left the room, she glanced back; Ashford had returned to staring blankly out of the magical window as if he were seeing something completely different.

-----

_Wednesday 26__th__ August 1994_

By the time Cassius' team assembled in a meeting room the following morning, Ashford's bodyguards were back on duty, and a chagrined O'Gregan (Tonks having seized her chance to tick him off for the inadequate detail on the Ashford family background in his case report) informed them that he had managed to cheer him up slightly "with a bit of the old blarney". Rhiannon Davies reported that the meeting in Amelia Bones' office had produced a lot of speculation and argument but little in the way of concrete plans (Cassius' _I-told-you-so_ expression briefly flickered across his face). Magical Analysis had produced a report on the card sent with the poisoned chocolates. And Cornworthy had investigated the owl, and discovered that there was no help there.

"I didn't think we'd get anywhere with this, and we're not. Whoever sent the chocolates must have done so directly from the World Cup campsite post office," he explained. "Those owls with the tags all came from the Owl Framer they had installed there, no way of tracing them." He sighed resignedly at everyone else's blank looks. "You know, those automatic postage gadgets? You hang your letter or package from the perch and say where you want it sent, and it's charmed to work out what breed of owl you'll need for the weight and estimated distance. It tells you how much money to put in the slot, then uses a short-range Portkey to put the right kind of owl on the perch for you. No clerk involved, completely anonymous you see."

"This Framer thing doesn't keep any records at all?" asked Tonks, disappointed.

"There's an enchanted quill that writes down the kind of owl, where it's going, and what the postage is, for accounting purposes," he explained. "But that's all. No use to us, except that it does confirm a package to Ashford was posted from there on the Friday night. But there were hundreds of people in and out of that tent, and I gather no-one kept an eye out for where people were going on the site?"

Tonks shook her head. "Not really. Everyone was just wandering about anywhere they wanted. You could have gone anywhere without being noticed, I suppose, especially if you had a disguise."

"And the card?" asked Rhiannon.

"Genuine, according to the report," said Cassius, waving a piece of parchment at them vaguely. "Not transfigured, not Copy Charmed, matches the ones she usually sends – Ashford's bodyguard spent some time looking around and found a couple of old ones in his house."

"But if she had them at the campsite anyone could have walked in while they were away, I should think," Tonks pointed out. "They only had fairly basic tents. The flaps would have had to be sealed against passing Muggles, but I should think a quick _Alohomora_ would have got you in."

"So that narrows it down to about a hundred thousand suspects, then," said O'Gregan irritably. He slammed his fist down on the table, making everyone jump. "We ballsed this one up, didn't we? All merrily went off to the Quidditch and assumed no-one would be able to attack Ashford while everyone was at the World Cup. Didn't work out too well for the poor sod, did it?"

"True, but it didn't work out too well for our would-be murderess, either, did it?" said Rhiannon with satisfaction.

Cassius got their attention again by rapping hard on the table. "That's what we need to discuss, actually. I'm a trifle concerned that we may be making assumptions again, truth be told. For example, do we really think Miss Perks would be so foolish as to send her _own card_?"

The others looked at each other uncertainly. "She might have, sort of double-bluff," said Tonks slowly. "I don't like it much either, but the plan does sort of fit the pattern of the first attempt, doesn't it? You know, as if the criminal is willing to take a risk to get what they want, but sets up as many get-out clauses as they can? If the plan works, it just _works_ and no-one's any the wiser – if it doesn't, it's not easy to prove who's really behind it, and they can wait for another chance. Both times, they had to have _really_ bad luck before we could even be sure what happened, let alone pin it on someone. If it hadn't been for Don here, either one would have worked."

"You talked to those cousins, didn't you? Which of them would be capable of planning something like that, do you think?" asked Rhiannon.

"Only Charlotte Perks, I'd say," said Tonks reluctantly. "I reckon Mickey's too impulsive, and Abby's too nervous. I mean, you've read the files too. But that Charlotte ... she did seem to have a head on her shoulders. And Ashford _said_ she had nerve."

"With the stabbing attack it was this Portia Blackstock taking the action to set it up though," argued O'Gregan. "Where does _she_ come into it? Could it have been Charlotte impersonating her that night?"

"It could have been, I suppose," said Tonks. "But we've seen Portia now. If that was Charlotte, she got her _exactly_ right. And I stand by what I said before; it's _not easy_ to do that with Transfiguration even if you're a Metamorphmagus. I can do a pretty good general impression of someone easily enough, but when I was impersonating Mrs Easton I had to really work hard to get her spot on."

"I'll second that," said Cassius. "I've Transfigured myself for a disguise many a time, but I was never confident about mimicking someone specific. And in this case, why would she have bothered? No-one there knew Portia Blackstock anyway, or if they did they weren't telling."

"If you use Polyjuice you get the look automatically, of course ..." mused Cornworthy.

"But you have the keep _taking_ the bloody stuff," pointed out Rhiannon, "and it's not easy to find all the ingredients, especially at an affordable price. I mean, you need bicorn horn – how many of _those_ do you see? Last time I checked, even unicorn horns were about twenty Galleons apiece. And like we said, you need a bit of who you're turning into – several bits if you want to make enough to keep up the disguise for a while. She'd have had to get that from somewhere, and then you just run into the same problem again, why _Portia_ of all people? Do they even _know_ each other?"

Tonks picked up the case notes on the two women and quickly scanned through them. "Not much here, they're from different circles after all ... oh no, hang on, there's one thing." She looked up. "You know you said Ashford contributed to that charity of yours, Cassius – the distressed half-bloods thing? It says here Charlotte _has_ done a bit of admin work for them, and we know that Portia helps out with fundraising from time to time – probably just by turning up and looking pretty, I should think. It doesn't say that they ever met, but it's the only link I can see here."

"Interesting," said O'Gregan. "Why would she and Portia have been working together to kill her uncle, though? It's not as if our Miss Blackstock needs the money, is it?"

"I don't know," admitted Tonks. "We'd have to look into it, wouldn't we?" A comment Cassius had made when they were discussing Portia at the World Cup flashed across her mind, and she shook herself; wild guessing wasn't going to get them anywhere, whatever Amelia Bones said. But she did make a mental note to ask Ches about that Hogsmeade trip.

The others were still arguing the possibilities. "The Blackstock girl could have been under Jacmel as well, couldn't she?" said Rhiannon. "We'd never be able to tell at this stage."

"But it would have been a risk giving _her_ the stuff as well," pointed out O'Gregan. "Although I suppose they could have memory-charmed her afterwards?"

Cassius rapped on the table again. "I hate to mention it, but we're going around in circles here. _Again._ Let's try and find out some hard facts." He smiled at them. "An Auror maxim from the old days: if in doubt, stop thinking and use brute force. I suggest that we take advantage of the new Wizengamot policy and get search warrants for their houses."

"The Blackstocks as well?" asked O'Gregan with eagerness. "Do you think we'll be able to get one now?"

"Good point," said Cassius. "Actually, I think I'll have a private word first with one or two Wizengamot members I know – no, Archibald Blackstock isn't the only one with a few contacts – and see if I can gauge what the chances are. _They_ don't know that we know Portia was there, after all, and that's the one advantage we've got. If they _are_ involved in this I don't want to risk tipping our hand if the Wizengamot turn us down."

"What about looking into the potion itself?" asked O'Gregan. "We seem to be making a habit of cases with rare potions in them. It was a pretty obscure one, wasn't it now?"

"Yes, that book the Healers copied the notes from was ancient," agreed Cornworthy. "Where would you _find_ information about something like that?"

Tonks snapped her fingers suddenly. Everyone turned to look at her. "Oh, I think I might know!" she said in excitement. "But I bet Lucretia Borgia didn't."

The other Aurors stared at her blankly, although after a few seconds a look of dawning comprehension on Cassius' face showed that he, at least, had remembered exactly _which_ books she'd brought back from Lore of Yore a few weeks previously. "_What Lucretia Borgia Never Knew: A Guide to Slow Poisons_," he said carefully, almost reverently. "What did you do with that book, Tonks? Did you send it to the Hall of Records in the end?"

"Actually, I never got round to filling in the claim form. It's still on my desk as far as I can remember ..."

"Go and get it. Don't touch it more than you have to. Just in case."

"OK." Tonks blinked slightly at this; surely the book itself couldn't be dangerous? She half-walked, half-ran back to her desk, found the volume she was looking for buried under a pile of memos, and eased it out with a "_Locomotor book_." Ignoring the curious stares from the occupants of the other cubicles and people she passed in the hallway, she guided the book down the corridor with her wand and into the meeting room. The others hastily snatched their mugs of tea and coffee out of the way to prevent a disaster as it slid to a halt on the table.

Cassius carefully opened the book at its index with his wand and scanned it, then gave Tonks a huge smile. "You were right, young lady," he said quietly, flicking his wand a few more times to turn the leaves. "Page forty-eight, _aqua cordis debilitatio_. Let's see ... hmm, most of the ingredients should be reasonably readily available, although the powdered Graphorn claws and oil of Firepine won't have been easy to get. Looks very difficult to brew, though, like most of these advanced potions ... I doubt there are many books left with the recipe. Rather odd that one should have suddenly turned up in an unregistered bookshop with an extensive Dark Arts section a few weeks before the potion was used, isn't it?" He looked up at his team. "So I suppose the question is, how likely is it that _this_ copy is the one our criminal found the information in?"

Tonks felt her jaw drop. "You think it might be? Why would they have got rid of it in that case?"

"Wouldn't _you_ have?" said Rhiannon, staring at the old text with great interest. "Think about it, Tonks. If you kept the actual book and somebody did a search of your house, it would be a dead giveaway, wouldn't it? Even if you'd Transfigured it into something else hide it ... no, _especially_ if you'd Transfigured it into something else to hide it. If it was me, I'd just copy all the interesting recipes down in some sort of personal code and then get rid of the evidence ..."

"... by trading it to a bookshop owner whose has a policy of selling _anything_, no questions asked, as long as it's old and obscure," finished Cassius. "And where the thing might very well have been bought in the first place. I think it's time we had another word with our Miss Orevel."

"I don't suppose Magical Analysis will be able to get any aura traces off it after all this time?" said Cornworthy in a resigned voice.

"I doubt it," replied Cassius with a shrug. "But we may as well try, so we'd better be careful how we handle this."

"I don't suppose we can get, erm –" Tonks racked her brains for the right word "– finger printings off the book? Like the Muggle police do?"

O'Gregan sniggered. "Been watching old films with your dad again, Tonks? Since when have we _ever_ used fingerprints?"

"In the early thirties, if I remember correctly." Cassius turned a bemused look on his colleagues who were all staring at him open-mouthed. "What's the matter? Didn't they teach you about that in training?"

Tonks exchanged amused glances with Rhiannon. _Don't you just hate it when this happens?_ "No, mate, they didn't actually."

"Oh." He shrugged. "Well, we _did_ try it for a few years, although the Department took some convincing to experiment with a Muggle technique." He shook his head. "The trouble was, it turned out to be too easy for wizarding criminals to get around it with magic once they realised what we were doing. Transfigure their fingertips, that sort of thing. Some bright spark even came up with a variation on _Scourgify_ for removing just the prints. So the idea rather fell out of use."

"If it fell out of use, does that mean people don't take precautions any more?" asked Tonks hopefully.

"I'm not sure," said Cassius with thoughtful look. "I suppose wizards who knew something about the Muggle world might remember, but I doubt anybody else would. Not that it would help us much, we don't keep records any more. There were too many comedians who left false prints. Come to think of it, I believe the Wizengamot introduced a policy of refusing to allow them as evidence because of that. It's probably still in force, I should think – I don't suppose anyone's thought about the matter long enough to consider changing the rules for the last fifty years. I mean, it was getting too embarrassing – if we'd believed all the prints we found, the Minister for Magic would have been convicted of half the crimes we investigated." As Tonks and O'Gregan nodded thoughtfully, he sat up and said in a brisk voice, "Anyone got any more to say? No? Ver ..."

"What _other_ recipes have they got in that book?" interrupted Rhiannon. "Is there anything else we're likely to come up against?"

"Ah, good point." He flicked through it. "Hmm, most of these poisons sound _exceedingly_ unpleasant. Let's see ... Suffocation Solution, for example, gradually cuts off the ability to breathe. The victim asphyxiates within twenty-four hours unless they take the antidote. Which apparently requires a week to brew, oh dear ... Blood Blend is a contact poison that makes the victim slowly waste away. Will affect close relatives much more powerfully if you add some of your own blood as an ingredient, but will then lose most of its effectiveness on others. From what I hear, I imagine Lady Borgia could have made _excellent_ use of that one ... The Putrefaction Potion, causes the body of the victim to rot from the extremities inwards ..."

"Charming," said O'Gregan with a nauseated expression, putting down his mug of coffee.

"Indeed. But from our killer's point of view, most of them look as if they would be rather too obvious, don't you think? The poison they actually chose would have been undetectable once out of Ashford's system, even to modern methods of magical analysis. You almost have to admire their planning skills."

"_Almost_," said O'Gregan with a disgusted look.

"Exactly. Now, if there's nothing else ..."

"Arkwright?" interrupted Tonks. "Might as well check on him, just in case. Sounded odd that he's suddenly mellowed so far as Ashford is concerned, didn't it? I wouldn't be surprised if he had a potions lab left over from his zoo."

"We could ask Will Poppleford if he could do us a favour and arrange for a visit from his department?" offered Rhiannon. "You know, the man we worked with at the World Cup?"

"Yeah, they might let us tag along and poke around a bit," said Tonks hopefully.

Cassius nodded. "Very well, then. Rhiannon, good idea of yours, you see what you can do with the Magical Creature regulators. I'll take this for analysis and go and apply for those warrants. Tonks, you go and tell Robards what your cousin said, and find out what they're doing about the World Cup fiasco – I need to know if any of us are going to be called on to investigate that. Donnacha, Arnold, can you go back over the records on the Blackstocks and see if there's anything we missed ... er, _yes_, Donnacha?"

"We'll do that, but can we do _something_ a little more direct, now? Track these fine people around for a few days under an Invisibility Cloak maybe, see where they go and who they talk to?"

Cassius shrugged. "Well, the Law Enforcement Patrol are supposed to be keeping an eye on them, but I suppose they'll be called on to help with the World Cup investigations, so ... yes, all right then, if you have time. Work it out with them. Anything _else_?" He looked around. "All right. Let's get to work!"


	14. A Significant Development In The Case

**13. A Significant Development In The Case**

_Thursday 27__th__ August 1994_

"Malfoy, eh?" Robards said when Tonks reported what Draco had said to her. "You're not the first to suggest that name. I heard much the same from Arthur Weasley."

"You did?" said Tonks in disappointment.

"Yes. His son found your young cousin watching the riot like it was an entertainment laid on for his benefit. Probably _was_. He seemed pretty sure he'd expected it, but the kid didn't actually tell him in so many words, unfortunately."

"Still, that's two reports," said Tonks hopefully. "Can you do anything with it?"

Robards gave a short laugh. "No chance. Lucius Malfoy's often been under suspicion, but we've never pinned one on him yet. And he's got the Minister in his pocket."

Tonks scowled. She wasn't happy about this reaction, but neither was it entirely unexpected. "How are we doing? Have we caught anyone yet?"

"We've identified a few of the stupid ones who joined in without masks. Probably just freeloaders, though, not part of the main group. I wouldn't bet they'll help us find who planned it."

_Why doesn't _that_ surprise me?_ "Er ... sir?" she said tentatively. "Do we have any idea who that might be?"

He gave her a shrewd look that she didn't like much. "Other than your uncle, you mean? Who else did you have in mind?"

She hesitated, but there didn't seem much point in not saying what she'd planned to say, especially as Robards already seemed to know what it was anyway. "Well, there's always Sirius Black," she said. "My cousin, as I'm sure you know. He's still on the loose ..."

"He'd hardly turn up on the campsite, would he?" interrupted Robards. "He wouldn't be able to do anything with all the security there. He seems to have planned his excursions into Hogwarts last year. He might be crazy, but he's not supposed to be _stupid_."

"If he was hiding in the woods, though, he might have cast the Dark Mark ..."

"Right next to the boy he was _after_, Auror Tonks? What for? He could have killed all three of them before they even had time to lift a wand. And it was Potter's own wand, too. We did consider the possibility of Black, but I can't see it myself."

"Oh. Right." She wasn't sure whether to be deflated or pleased. "How did whoever it was _get_ Harry Potter's wand, anyway?"

Robards shrugged. "The boy thought he _dropped_ it on the way into the wood and never noticed. No sense, these kids nowadays, far too casual. Still, from what I hear he's rich enough to buy himself a dozen wands if he wants, so I don't suppose it would make much difference to him if he lost it. Fame _and_ money at that age? Probably gone to his head," he added cynically.

"Er, yes, it could do, I suppose," said Tonks, nonplussed. It was unusual to find anyone being critical when the subject of Harry Potter cropped up (which it frequently did whenever talk turned to the war). "So, does Rufus Scrimgeour need us for anything?" She crossed her fingers behind her back. It would be a pleasure to arrest the marchers, but she didn't _really_ want to have to abandon the Jacmel case just when they'd found a new lead.

"Not yet." He gave her one of his twisted smiles. "Got something else on, haven't you? I can tell by the look on old Cassius' face. You go and do that, we know where to find you all if we need you."

-----

"There's an _owl_ here for you, Tonks," said Rhiannon testily when she got back.

"An owl?" asked Tonks, surprised. "I thought we didn't use them?"

"We don't. It must have made its way in here somehow. Just take the letter from the blasted thing, look you? I've had to Vanish the droppings twice already."

Tonks took the envelope from the bird's beak. It preened itself and nudged her hand with its head, pointing her towards her quill. "Must have followed me from my flat," she said curiously. "And it's obviously been told to wait for a reply." She ripped the envelope open, read the letter, and broke out in a fit of giggles that rapidly developed into uncontrollable peals of laughter.

Rhiannon looked at her as if she'd suddenly grown a second head (a feat beyond even her Metamorphosing skills). "What's so funny?"

Tonks handed her the letter. She scanned it and broke out into giggles of her own. Cassius poked his head around the edge of his cubicle and watched them in polite bemusement. "What's so funny?"

"This." Rhiannon waved the neatly-written parchment at him, stifling the last few giggles. "Your lady friend's son has chosen to _write a formal letter_ to ask our girl out for dinner."

"My lady friend?" asked Cassius with a puzzled frown.

"Mrs Hallendale," explained Tonks with a chuckle. Cassius looked at her reprovingly, but she ignored him and clicked her fingers again. "You know, I _thought_ Montgomery Hallendale wanted to ask me something when I ran into them at the World Cup? I suppose it would have been pretty bad timing to talk about dinner then, seeing as how I'd just sort of threatened to arrest them both."

"_Arrest_ them?" said Cassius in alarm.

"Well, I didn't mean it really ... But apparently he was planning to circumvent the Muggle-Repelling charms on the stadium all by himself, in order to let your Angie watch the match. So I had to act the heavy a _bit_, didn't I?"

"She isn't 'my Angie'," said Cassius with a frown. "I merely spent some time talking to her."

"Whatever you say, Cassius," said Tonks, grinning. "Didn't know Monty had it in him to break rules like that. It made me warm to him a bit, actually," she finished.

"So are you going to take him up on the offer, then?" said Rhiannon, waggling her eyebrows. "Shame to waste such a sweet and elegantly phrased letter straight out of Mr Manners' book, isn't it?"

It was Tonks' turn to look reproving. "I said _warm_ to him, not get the _hots_ for him. Anyway, I already arranged a date with Ches."

"Ches? Chesney _Thompson_, you mean?" Rhiannon looked at her with complete astonishment. "When did _that_ happen?"

"At the World Cup. Well, OK, we haven't actually fixed anything up yet, but at least he deserves a chance. He's quite sweet really."

"No harm in having more than one string to your bow, though," pointed out Cassius, who was obviously trying to keep a straight face, and almost succeeding.

"Or for that matter, more than one beau to your string," added Rhiannon with a wicked grin, obviously not trying at all.

"Shut up, Rhi," said Tonks tartly. "I mean, asking me by _letter_? A bit pompous, don't you think?"

"Not in my day," said Cassius with dignity. "It was the accepted way to ask a young lady to meet you. In fact, if you _really_ wanted to do things properly, you had to write to her father first to get his permission to even ask."

"Oh good, much simpler now then," said Rhiannon, ignoring his look of annoyance. "Although I'm sure the arranged-marriage crowd can still do worse. I'm _so_ glad my lot were never into that. Anyway, Tonks," she said, pointing at the owl which was clicking its beak impatiently and looking generally annoyed, "aren't you going to write something and let this poor creature do its job?"

Tonks picked up a quill, hesitated, then shrugged and scribbled a non-committal note to say 'I'll see how I'm fixed if I don't have any case work on'. She knew she was procrastinating, but it was easier than trying to compose a polite letter that said 'no' explicitly, and a great deal quicker. The owl gazed at her as if expecting an Owl Treat as she tied the letter to its leg, and when it didn't get one flew off with a look of reproach, to the accompaniment of chuckles from the other Aurors as it tried to negotiate the exit doors. _Bad luck, mate_, she thought. _We're not set up for owls here. Go and complain to your boss._

She turned back to her colleagues. "Any luck with Will then, Rhi?"

"He'll 'see what he can do', he said. Best we're going to get, I think. How was Robards? Have they made any progress since that meeting?"

"Nothing really. Sounds like we're OK to work on this though. Any suggestions, Cassius?"

Cassius considered this. "Can't hurt to re-examine all the possible approaches. Rhiannon, would you be so kind as to have a word with Eleanor Finchley, and check if she has any new information on our musical instrument thieves? Tonks, I think it's time that we visited Sylvester Ballantyne again. The Wizengamot have set a trial date on the assault charge now. Let's find out if that's made him more willing to talk about his potion-pushing friend."

-----

After lunch, Tonks and Cassius Apparated into Wizard's Row in Brighton again. It looked far more inviting than on their previous early morning visit, with several witches and wizards examining merchandise and chatting amiably to each other. Tonks looked back curiously as they stepped out into the Muggle street; although there was a fairly big wall around it, it didn't look nearly enough to prevent the Row from being seen from the higher windows on the other side of the street.

"It's shielded from view with Distortion Charms and Muggle-Repellers," muttered Cassius, noticing her interest. "Probably has anti-climbing enchantments on the wall as well. Quite safe."

"Interesting," said Tonks, equally quietly. "I've never really spent much time in these little bitty magical areas. You'd think people would just go up to Diagon Alley, wouldn't you?"

"It's nice to have a local place to meet, though, isn't it?" said Cassius. "Well, _relatively_ local. I suppose this place serves as a centre for several counties."

"True." Tonks looked around and sighed. "Remind me again why we couldn't just Apparate straight there?"

Cassius looked at her in mild exasperation. "You know the rules, Tonks. Stick to designated Apparition Points if you don't know exactly where to aim for. We can't appear out of thin air in the middle of a Muggle neighbourhood. And I certainly can't remember the lie of the land well enough to know where it would be safe to pop up. Can _you_?"

"That little alleyway down the side?" offered Tonks as they walked out onto the main road.

"Which must get used all the time, so _no_."

"So, how _do_ we get out to where Ballantyne lives? Walk again?"

He winced. "I'd rather not. How much Muggle money do you have on you?

Tonks opened her Muggle-style handbag, extracted a purse and flicked through it. "Not much, mate. Just a few coins."

Cassius examined the contents of his pockets with vexation. "Neither have I. Can't take one of their taxis then. It'll have to be the bus." He grinned suddenly. "You know, I haven't ridden on one of those in ages? It'll be quite nostalgic."

"OK." Tonks stuck out her arm as a bus appeared around the corner, and watched in indignation as it sped by. "Hey! Aren't they supposed to _stop_?"

Cassius carefully hid a smile as he pointed towards a small covered enclosure about a hundred yards away. "Only at the designated bus stops. It's not like the Knight Bus, you know."

"Oh." A disgruntled Tonks followed him down the street to the stop.

The driver of the first bus to turn up stared at them in disbelief when they asked for a ticket to the housing estate where Ballantyne lived. After a few minutes of mutual incomprehension, and a number of impatient glares from the passengers on the bus, it turned out that the journey couldn't be done directly, and involved a change of buses en route. An embarrassed Tonks and Cassius bought tickets to the station and found seats half-way down the bus.

"_Now_ I bet you wish we'd risked just Apparating straight there," she muttered under her breath.

"Oh shut up," he replied, equally quietly. After a minute or so, he added, "When we get there, look around for a good spot we can use next time." She grinned; for _once_ she'd got the better of an argument with him.

"Has Ballantyne done anything so far that we know of?" she asked.

"No. The Patrol were keeping an eye on him, but they've been busy, obviously."

"You'd have thought he'd have said something by now if he was going to crack. When did the Wizengamot set this trial date, anyway?"

"Just before the World Cup. I nearly went to see him then, but I thought it might be better to leave him to stew for a few more days – allow him the opportunity to panic a little. I had hoped he might contact someone."

"How would we know if he did?" asked Tonks curiously. "I didn't think we had enough people for a full-time watch on the house."

Cassius smiled. "We don't. But _he_ doesn't necessarily have to be informed of that. And remember that he can't Apparate anywhere with that anti-Disapparation bracelet on, and what he _doesn't_ know is that it tracks his whereabouts. Unfortunately I'm told that he hasn't done more than go to the shops. And he should still be in, according to this." He reached into his pocket and waved a small gadget. "I borrowed it from the chap keeping an eye on him."

"Do we have tracer spells around his house as well?"

"Of course, and a watch on his Floo connection. Nothing of great interest to report there, unless the postman is secretly a Dark wizard. We can't do much to track _incoming_ Apparition unfortunately, at least not without tipping him off. But those Apparition-blocking spells he put on his house come in quite handy for us, too, because they stop most visitors ..."

"Here, are you doing some kind of RPG or summat? You look a bit old for it."

Tonks and Cassius jumped. The speaker was a spotty teenage boy in the seat behind them. "I beg your pardon?" said Cassius – politely, but with a trace of alarm in his voice.

"All that talk about wizards and spells and stuff. I thought maybe you were into some sort of fantasy role-play thing, like?" He looked almost indecently enthusiastic.

"Erm, well ..." said Tonks, floundering. She cast a panicked look at Cassius – _Now what do we do?_ – and wasn't reassured to see that he looked equally uncertain. She cursed her own stupidity; apparently they'd allowed their voices to return to something approaching normal volume.

"What made you think that?" said Cassius, obviously sparring for time while he tried to work out the best way to handle the situation. Tonks thought wistfully of a Memory Charm, but there was no way she could cast one on the bus without risking more people noticing that something was amiss.

"Well, I play D&D, but that sounded like a modern game, not a dungeon thing. Is this like a game of your own, like? Where do you play? Didn't know people as old as you were into this sort of stuff. Er, no offence, like, mate."

"None taken," said Cassius with a smile, which broadened slightly as an idea seemed to occur to him. "Actually, my granddaughter here is a bit of a, er, fantasist? It's a sort of private game we play to indulge her."

_Cheers mate. _"Yeah – we sort of, er, pretend we're magical … er, police?" The boy seemed to find this explanation plausible, and Tonks perked up slightly as she realised that Cassius' idea might actually work. "You know, er, pretend we're, er, on a case and work out how we'd catch villains?"

The boy looked half curious, half disappointed. "Oh, right. That sounds like it might be fun. Not a proper game like D&D then?"

"Definitely not." _Whatever the hell that might be._ "Just something we, er, make up as we go along. Just the two of us," she added hastily. She didn't want to give the boy any ideas. She smiled brightly at him. "Anyway, I hope you enjoy your B&B – er, D&D. Sounds fun."

The boy didn't look convinced, and seemed inclined to probe further, but fortunately the bus pulled into the station at that point and they managed to lose him in the early afternoon crowds. With some relief they found the right bay for the bus they had to catch and lined up.

"Remind me to keep my big mouth shut in future," murmured Tonks as they queued. _And also remind me to get you back for that._ "Or _really_ call for the Knight Bus."

"Really? Personally I think I'd rather travel by these," said Cassius as they reached the front of the queue. "They might not be as quick, but at least they have careful drivers. And they know where to go. Yes, two tickets please," he said. "One, er, OAP?" Tonks sniggered and he looked at her reprovingly, but the driver apparently saw nothing out of the ordinary. He also proved to be quite amenable to dropping Tonks and Cassius off as close as possible to Ballantyne's house.

"Did you see what I saw?" asked Cassius lightly as they alighted just around the corner from their destination. This time around, the street was quiet and apparently deserted in the mid-afternoon late summer sunshine.

"A nice thick patch of trees, suitable for Apparition?" said Tonks with chagrin. "Pity we didn't notice that _last_ time. Anyway, how do you want to play this? Are we worried about tipping Ballantyne off that we're here?"

"Oh no, not this time, Tonks. This is definitely an official visit. We just go right up to his front door and knock."

Cassius made sure that his Auror badge was clearly visible on the front of his clothes, then suited the action to his words. Tonks dropped back a couple of steps and looked around, keeping her fingers on the tip of the wand concealed in her sleeve just in case of trouble. Cassius knocked on the door again. Nothing happened.

They waited. Nothing continued to happen for the next few minutes.

"Do you think he's deliberately ignoring us?" asked Tonks softly.

"Not if he has any sense," said Cassius with a frown.

"He _hasn't_ got any sense, or he wouldn't have got himself in this situation in the first place," Tonks pointed out. Cassius hammered on the door again, much harder this time. There was still no reply.

"He couldn't have left the house without us knowing, could he?" said Tonks, sounding worried.

Cassius shook his head, looking puzzled. "We'd know if he Flooed out, there's a Portkey watch as well, and we've stopped him Apparating. Even if he _had_ we'd know where as long as he had that bracelet on. And if he can break the spells that stop him removing _that_ without an alarm going off, he's a far more powerful Dark wizard than I'd ever have given him credit for."

They looked around again. The house, and the street around it, were still quiet.

"I'll go and take a look round the back," said Tonks eventually. "I suppose he could just be out in the garden? If he isn't, do I try to take a look inside?"

"Well ... yes, all right, perhaps you'd better," said Cassius slowly. "Be _careful_ though, Tonks. I don't like the look of this."

"Way ahead of you, mate." She slipped down the little lane next to the house and looked over the fence into the garden, but Ballantyne wasn't there. She hesitated for a moment, then carefully adjusted her own clothes, to ensure that her Auror badge was easily visible to anyone who might be in the house contemplating an attack on non-official visitors.

She slipped in through the back gate and crossed to the kitchen door as quickly as possible, and listened carefully. She could hear the faint sound of Cassius knocking on the front door again, but there was no other noise. She paused for a moment, then tried the door. It was locked.

Tonks checked that none of Ballantyne's Muggle neighbours were out in their gardens where they might see her, then pointed her wand at the door and muttered "_Alohomora_". It remained locked. She pursed her lips. Rendering the Unlocking Charm ineffective wasn't an especially advanced bit of charmwork, but it definitely counted as annoying.

She smiled to herself ruefully as she suddenly remembered K's 'knife', took it from her handbag, and ran it around the edge of the door frame. This time, the door clicked open. She opened it as quietly as possible and moved into the kitchen with great caution. This did _not_ seem like a good time to risk carelessly tripping over something and drawing attention to herself..

There was nothing obviously out of the ordinary in the kitchen, which seemed surprisingly clean when compared to their previous visit. Tonks slipped her wand out of its concealing holder and gripped it tightly, then opened the door to the hallway.

It was empty.

The door to the lounge was open, so she crept up to it, then swiftly moved round into the open space with her wand held ready for immediate use. She stopped and stared.

"_Cassius!_" she yelled.

"Yes?" His voice from outside was muffled but clearly audible.

"Get in here _now_. Use your knife thingy if you have to."

He appeared at her side very quickly, and she moved aside to let him see what was in the room. He froze for a moment. "Oh ... _bugger_."

"My sentiments exactly, mate."

Ballantyne had not left the house; and now he never would. What remained of him was lying on the lounge floor with most of the back of the head missing and his blood splattered across the room.

-----

Tonks sat sprawled on the bench outside Ballantyne's kitchen window, staring blankly at the garden. She hadn't any real desire to be sitting there brooding at the moment, but the people from Magical Analysis had insisted.

She cursed quietly to herself. Naturally, as soon as Cassius had seen the body he had immediately contacted Auror Headquarters to request specialist help. Naturally, Magical Analysis had ordered the Aurors to keep out of the way until they had finished working. Naturally, both of them had been inclined to take a look around regardless. But naturally, while they were still casting Muggle-Repelling Charms on the house and gardens to ward off any neighbourly inquisitiveness, the expert from Magical Analysis had Apparated into the patch of trees they had noticed earlier, strode into the house, and Taken Charge.

Cassius finished the last charm on the back gate and came to sit down next to her. "Well, that should make the locals feel unwanted," he said with a smile. He glanced back towards the house. "I think I know how they feel."

"Mmm."

"I don't know how long he'll be. It used to take anything from half an hour to several days, but methods may have improved since I retired."

"Ah."

"Must be an interesting branch of magic, mustn't it?"

"Uh-huh."

"Oh look, there goes Cornelius Fudge flying past on the back of a Hebridean Black. Don't you think his lime-green hat goes perfectly with that pink tutu he's wearing?"

"Yeah."

"_Tonks!_"

Her head snapped round. "Yes? What's the matter?"

His eyes twinkled slightly. "Your thoughts seemed to be elsewhere, young lady. You've even lost your hair colour."

"Oh. Sorry. Just ... thinking."

"I can see that." He waited for a minute or two and then said hesitantly, "Your first dead body?"

Tonks looked round at him in surprise. "What? No. They took us to a morgue in training. In fact they showed us ... quite a few unpleasant things. Why?"

He shrugged. "You seemed distracted. First one who died by violence, perhaps?"

"No, not that ... I saw a man killed by a Vipertooth while I was in Peru. That was fairly gruesome. It's just ..."

"Yes?"

Tonks hesitated for a good thirty seconds. "This one's my fault, isn't it?" she said miserably.

"It is?" Cassius looked at her as if doubtful of the best approach, and tried humour. "Are you holding your hand up for the crime, then? Should I confiscate your wand and Portkey you back to the cells?"

It didn't go down well. She scowled at him. "You know what I mean."

He shook his head. "Actually, I'm afraid I don't. I have no idea."

"Ballantyne wouldn't have _been_ killed if I hadn't let that ... that masked git get away, would he?" she said despondently. "Scarf Boy would have been crying his heart out in Azkaban, and Ballantyne would have been in a nice safe cell as an accessory."

"Ah." He looked sideways at her. "I see. 'Auror's angst,' we used to call that."

"_What?_"

"You know. The feeling you get when you make a decision and something goes wrong, and then much later, after a number of people make a number of other decisions, something else goes wrong, and you convince yourself it's your fault because you failed to use your extensive Seer powers to predict it when making the original decision."

Tonks scowled again. "Oh, very bloody witty. And your point was, Cassius?"

"Much the same as it was the _last_ time we had a conversation like this," he said calmly. "Don't beat yourself up about it _too_ much. It's good that you're conscientious enough to take it this way. But _you_ didn't refuse to talk to us, _you_ didn't personally do him in. In the job, this kind of thing will happen a lot. You need to learn how to handle it." He paused for a moment. "For the record, I don't feel especially happy about the situation either. If we're pointing fingers, it's a lot more my fault than yours. _I_ was the one who decided to let him go to see if anyone would try to contact him. I didn't envisage _this_ kind of contact."

"No?"

"No. I underestimated our potion seller – if it _is_ him – very badly, and believe me, it's not a good feeling. But I can't do anything about it now, and it's not as if my hand was the one holding the wand."

Tonks was glad to find that she was able to manage a smile – a rather forced one, admittedly, but at least it was a smile. "Good. I don't have to arrest you either then." Her expression turned serious again as she looked back at the house. "If the hand _was_ holding a wand. It didn't look much like a magical attack, did it? Too gory."

He shrugged. "Perhaps, but most curses that can be used to kill aren't as straightforward as the Killing Curse, are they? I've always thought far more curses would be labelled Unforgivable if they couldn't be blocked magically."

"'_There are many ways to kill_,'" mumbled Tonks absently, remembering. "'_And many ways to die_.'"

"I'm sorry?" He sounded startled.

She shook her head to discourage further inquiries on the topic. "Just something they said to us in training. Very apt." She stared out at the garden again.

-----

_February 1993_

Tonks hadn't expected the Unforgivable Curses to be taught. So it came as a surprise to arrive one day for a practical lesson to find that Bruno Featherstone, the Head of Auror Training himself was there, and had already written 'Killing Curses' on a blackboard hovering in mid-air. The class looked at each other with apprehension. Featherstone smiled. "This lesson is usually unexpected," he said quietly. "And unpopular. But necessary. So settle down, please. This isn't going to be pleasant." The statement did nothing to settle their nerves.

"Now, before you get scared or excited about the prospect of learning the Killing Curse – and I wouldn't recommend either reaction for an Auror, although the first is more pardonable – you should know we don't actually teach you Unforgivable Curses during your training. In fact, we don't teach them once you're qualified, either, without specific authorisation in an emergency situation. If we're unfortunate enough to have another war – and I'm afraid the historical odds suggest it's likely at some time during your careers – you may have to learn them. Be prepared for that."

More uneasy glances were exchanged. All of the class were old enough to have childhood memories of the 1970-81 war, the one they always thought of as simply '_the_ war'. None were old enough for previous conflicts to seem like more than ancient history. Tonks had heard a few stories of the Grindelwald war; but despite spending seven years in an establishment run by the man who had finally defeated him, it still felt distant and unreal. She couldn't help thinking about what might happen if the Death Eaters were ever to re-form, and shuddered.

"I'm here today to draw your attention to the many unpleasant things people can use on you, and what you can do to counter them," continued Featherstone. "You've chosen to train for a dangerous job. Mr Robards tells me you're all doing well in general combat scenarios, but you need to know how to react if you find yourself at the wrong end of a wand held by someone truly _dangerous_. The Ministry doesn't approve of Aurors getting themselves killed without authorisation, and if this happens to you it could seriously damage your career prospects." Several trainees tittered nervously as Featherstone gave them a dangerous-looking half-smile.

He waved his wand to move the board to one side, revealing a number of cages stacked behind it, each one containing an animal. On closer inspection, all of them appeared unusually docile; Tonks suspected they were probably under some kind of charm to pacify them, and didn't give much for their chances. "You're not going to like this," Featherstone said easily, as he unlocked one of the cages and lifted out a dog. "At least, I do hope not. There are many ways to kill, most of which are rightly considered Dark Magic, and you won't find it easy to tell what is about to be cast at you or a fellow Auror, or what to do if it hits. So let's try a practical demonstration – see what you can do about this. Wands ready ..."

Featherstone pointed his wand at the dog and muttered "_Corpus Flammare._" There was a flash of light and it was immediately enveloped in bright yellow flames. Several of the class cried out in horror (the smell was appalling); a couple had the presence of mind to cast Flame-Freezing Charms, but unfortunately they had no effect on the magical flames. Tonks, revolted, tried a jet of water, but this failed to douse them either. It wasn't until one of the trainees spat "_Finite Incantatem!_" through gritted teeth that the flames went out. It was too late to help the dog, however.

Featherstone nodded to the successful student. "That's an old seventeenth-century Dark curse, very nasty indeed, and you'll note it was designed to be resistant to the remedies you would immediately think of. A counter-curse _was_ developed ... but since this is a mercifully obscure spell you'd be unlikely to know it. And even if you did, the damage already caused would be severe. Next, try this."

The class watched in trepidation as Featherstone extracted a cat from the next cage and set it down. "These animals are all heavily dosed with a potion to block pain, by the way," he said. "I'm being brutal to make a point, but we don't do this sort of thing for fun." This time the curse he uttered was "_Hirudinis_." Nothing much happened for a few moments, then there were gasps as drops of blood began to leak through the cat's fur, as if it were covered in invisible leeches.

Several people immediately tried _Finite Incantatem_, followed by Wound-Sealing charms, but then additional leaks kept springing up causing the cat to lose more blood. After a few minutes, the cat had been so weakened it didn't survive. Several trainees, Tonks included, made gagging noises.

"_Finite_ doesn't help much on that one," said Featherstone quietly. "It's a regenerative curse. As you discovered, the symptoms can be countered magically, and a Blood-Boosting spell would have helped; but again, the accepted counter-curse is obscure. A final example." The target for this spell was a monkey. Featherstone looked at it without expression for a moment, then cried "_Eviscero!_" while bringing his wand across his body in a vicious slash like a Bludger Backbeat. As he did so, a streak of purple flame shot across the monkey's stomach. It staggered for a few paces and then fell and lay motionless. There was nothing any of them could do.

"That's right," said Featherstone, watching them closely. "Internal injuries – once _that_ curse has hit, the damage is already done. There _is_ no counter, except for standard healing spells and potions – and if the curse is performed at full strength, there won't be much of a chance for them to be effective." He stared at the cursed animals for a moment with a look of distaste. "That's enough for now, I think. If you're shocked by this demonstration ... that's all to the good. Because remember, next time it could be _you_ facing spells like these."

"Who _knows_ old curses like that, sir?" said one student, with a sickened look. "Are we really ever likely to face someone who uses them?"

"I don't know," said Featherstone simply. "My point – and I can't emphasise it enough – is that _you_ won't know, either, until it happens. Magical research has developed countless spells over the years, among them many, _many_ ways to kill. Now, those first two are mercifully obscure, but they're still recorded in old books, and you can't guarantee you'll never face them – _or any of the many similarly unpleasant curses_. It would be nice if the Gutting Curse were equally obscure, but that one _was_ employed in the war. We eventually captured the man who liked to use it, but not soon enough." He grimaced. "Our team arrived just too late to rescue his last victims, a couple of young men who put up a brave fight but in the end were simply outnumbered. I saw the reports, and they weren't a pretty sight."

The class was silent for a moment. Featherstone looked at each of them with a very serious expression. "Now I don't wish to alarm you ... well actually, that's not quite true; I _do_ wish to alarm you, but not unnecessarily. Most of the time, you'll be facing villains of modest combat ability. They can still be dangerous, but with the training you receive here, you should be able to cope. But you have to be prepared for the fact that some day, you may find yourself facing someone who has studied the Dark Arts deeply; in a worst case scenario, someone personally taught by He Who Must Not Be Named." He shook his head at the sharp intakes of breath from his audience. "There are undoubtedly people from that circle who avoided Azkaban. Always be on your guard. 'Constant vigilance', as one of my old friends likes to put it."

"How can we _stop_ them then, sir?" asked one trainee shakily. "You said yourself, some spells have specific counter-curses nobody knows these days."

"A good question," said Featherstone. "Let's see if we can decide on an answer. What would you do in a normal combat situation? Anyone?"

"Use the training Robards gave us," muttered Tonks, mostly to herself.

Unfortunately the lecturer heard the comment and turned to look at her. "Correct. Now tell me how you would know it _wasn't_ a normal combat situation?"

"Er ... I'm not sure I would," said Tonks reluctantly.

"Also correct," said Featherstone, to her surprise. "I would hope you all understand what Mr Robards has been drilling into you by now. If you're hit by a spell in a fight – _any_ spell – it's bad news, whatever it is. Defence against killing curses is largely an extension of normal combat techniques. If you expect to be facing them, you can take fewer risks, but the general principles are the same. Anyone care to suggest a way to defend against them? Come on, _someone_?"

"Be somewhere else," said a young man sourly. The class laughed.

"Correct again," said Featherstone. "Well done, Mr Jenkins! I don't say _that_ often, do I? Yes, the first principle of defence is the same here as anywhere; _get out of the way_. Duck, dodge, Disapparate, do whatever it takes. What else can you do?"

"Shield Charms?" ventured Tonks. It was her best technique, after all.

"Exactly. They will block most incoming spells if they're powerful enough. That's why we emphasise hex-deflection techniques. If anyone here had had the presence of mind to use _Protego_ while I was demonstrating, it might have worked, even against the Gutting Curse. But as you probably know, there is one killing curse it _won't_ work against. Suppose you're facing someone about to cast _Avada Kedavra_ at you. Is there any shielding action you _can_ take?"

"Physically block the spell energy?" said someone from the back of the group hesitantly. Featherstone nodded at him, pleased.

"Precisely. If you can interpose a sufficiently rigid _physical_ object between yourself and a curse, it will often absorb or deflect the spell energy. This is where Conjuring skills are especially useful, which is one of the reasons we work so hard at bringing your advanced Transfiguration skills up to par. It gives you _some_ extra chances, at least."

"The blast from a physical barrier shattering could be dangerous too, couldn't it?" queried someone else. "How do we _tell_ when we need to Conjure or animate one rather than just use _Protego_?"

"Another very good question. The answer is that a disadvantage of the Unforgivable Curses is the need to say the incantation. In the case of _Avada Kedavra_ that gives you about half a second before they complete it. Part of the training Mr Robards will be taking you through will be to train your instincts to enable you to react in that half a second as soon as you hear someone say '_Avada_ ...'. Although this in itself can be a weakness, as he knows very well." He smiled wryly. "But it's the lesser of two evils. Any questions?"

One of the foreign trainees raised a hand. "Sir? Vy are ve _not_ learning to cast zese so-called 'Unforgiffable Curses'? In my country, ve ... haff had need of them."

Tonks thought it a very good question. She knew from talking to him that his country had a very small wizarding population, and during the war a group of local You-Know-Who sympathisers had attempted to take over their Ministry. In the ensuing bloody battles half a generation had been lost. Featherstone's look seemed, to Tonks to hold a mixture of reproof and sympathy. "Then _your_ Ministry will have to teach you, I'm afraid. We only do so when absolutely necessary. Do you understand the principles on which they work?"

"I ... vell ..." He trailed off.

"I thought not. Let me explain. The Unforgivables are all about projecting personal power. To be effective, the caster needs both magical strength _and_ a will firmly focused on the desired result." He glanced around to see how the class were reacting. "Both components are vital. Strong negative emotions such as anger, desperation, or hatred provide the base for the spells, but unless channelled in the right way they will cause relatively little damage. An inadequate Imperius will fail to fully control the victim. A below-strength Cruciatus will merely produce a short burst of pain. Even a poorly-executed Killing Curse will result only in a blast of magic that might damage, but not kill." He paused for a moment. "Does anyone know where the incantation for the Killing Curse actually comes from?"

No-one put their hands up. Tonks didn't blame them. She wouldn't have done so at this point even if she could have remembered the answer.

"Very well. It's an ancient spell. The incantation is Aramaic, and the literal translation is 'let the thing be destroyed'. Ironically, in corrupted form, Muggles seem to regard it as the only 'magic word' necessary for any spell. The fact that such a curse was developed so early in the history of magic, and has been used often enough for even Muggles to have some idea of the incantation, may partly explain why they have always treated us with such suspicion.

"The words point the way to the successful execution of the spell, you see. To actually _kill_ with the Killing Curse, the incantation is not enough. Nor is a mere wish to cause harm. You must channel a desire to _destroy_ your target utterly. Similarly, a Cruciatus curse requires a hunger to inflict agonising and continuous pain, and the prerequisite for Imperius is the urge to dominate someone completely."

"Is this ... vy is this ..."

"Their power is such that they also harm the _caster_. Regular use of these curses will damage your conscience, and ultimately your sanity, and slowly destroy you – or at any rate, the part of you that we want you to display as an Auror. That's why we don't teach them."

He looked around at them with a sombre expression. "There are many ways to kill," he said. "And many ways to die. As an Auror, you have to be prepared for both. But you need not seek out either."

The class filed out thoughtfully. It seemed to be a common result from Bruno Featherstone's lectures.

-----

_Thursday 27__th__ August 1994_

"You may come in now."

Tonks, lost in morbid recollections, started at the voice from behind her. She turned to see the Ministry expert standing in the kitchen doorway with a very self-satisfied expression on his face. He was wearing plain white robes over Muggle clothing, and thin gloves that appeared to be enchanted to repel contact.

She exchanged glances with Cassius, who looked as disgruntled as she felt. "That's very kind of you, old chap," he said. Tonks carefully kept her face straight. The expert didn't seem to have noticed the hint of irony in his voice.

"My card." He handed them each a card on which was printed '_Aloysius Lockhard, Magical Analyst, Department of Magical Law Enforcement_', together with a crossed wand and spatula emblem. "Don't touch anything inside," he said.

"Of course not." Cassius' mouth twitched. "What have you discovered, Mr Lockhard?"

"It's pronounced _Lo-card_," he said with some annoyance. "Now then, Auror Smethwyck – oh and you too, Auror Tonks – I have completed my examination of the body and the room in which it was found. Fortunately neither of you were in there long enough to do any damage. I have also carried out a short search of the rest of the house. No hidden areas, and there won't be anything of importance there, as I will explain to you shortly."

"I see. Well, never mind, eh? Could you tell us when he was killed?" Tonks was glad to see Cassius taking the initiative. She knew very well that there were no hidden areas, having searched the place once already when they arrested Ballantyne. She repressed a strong urge to wipe the smug look off Lockhard's face with a well-placed hex, or even a punch.

Lockhard shrugged. "Unfortunately not with any degree of precision. If you want a range, I will state my opinion that death took place three to four days ago. I can't be any more definite than that, the body had lain here too long before I was called in."

"How was he killed?" asked Tonks. She felt sure she wasn't going to be happy with the answer.

"Ah yes, now _that's_ an interesting one," said Lockhard with real enthusiasm. "It seems he was Stunned first, but the lethal damage was done with a Reductor Curse to the back of the head. It's the first time I've seen that in the field, it's a most unusual case."

_Yeah, terrific._ "Hang on a minute ... I thought the Reductor Curse wasn't very effective on living tissue?" asked Tonks.

"Oh, it isn't, usually," he said happily. "And the force projected usually spreads rapidly – inverted squares, you know – that's _why_ it's so unusual to see it used to attack someone. At best you might break bones. But at point-blank range ... well, it has the effect you see. A very interesting choice. There are so _many_ ways to kill someone with a curse, but it would appear that our killer didn't know anything more efficient. Or didn't have the ability to cast it if they did."

"How much damage did they do?" asked Cassius in a quiet voice.

"Oh, more than enough. Shattered the back of the skull and scattered brain tissue over quite an area. Very messy. Could have been worse, but the victim's own wand was used, which must have reduced the power a bit ..."

"_What?_" said Tonks and Cassius simultaneously.

Lockhard smirked at them. "I discovered it in the front garden when I arrived." Tonks looked at Cassius with chagrin; admittedly, they hadn't had _time_ to search the grounds, but it still made them look bad. "The killer must have discarded it when he left."

"Did it tell you anything?" asked Cassius through what appeared to be gritted teeth.

"Of course, of course. Having the murder wand available is always useful, we so rarely have that luxury. I did _Priori Incantatem_ to get the last few spells cast from it – I've recorded them if you need to see. The owner appears to have got off one Disarming Charm – I can only assume he missed. After that, the Stunner must have hit him. The marks made by the spell – here on the chest, see – haven't faded, which shows he must have been killed shortly afterwards. The wand was then used to cast a series of cleaning and locking spells, which evidently represent the murderer tidying up after himself."

"_Himself?_ Can you tell?" asked Tonks. Lockhard clucked at her in annoyance.

"Or _herself_. I use the term merely for _convenience_, young lady ... Anyway, _whoever_ they were, they were very sensible not to use their own wand, of course. Seems to be a popular tactic at the moment, doesn't it?"

"Did you find any personal aura traces?" asked Cassius. Lockhard snorted.

"No hope of that. It's been far too long since it happened. _Why_ you couldn't have checked on him earlier, I don't know."

_Oh you know. The World Cup to patrol. Headcases in masks to deal with. Unauthorised additional ingredients to investigate. Obscure Dark Arts books to find. Hairstyles to change. It's amazing how busy you can get with trivial little things like that these days._ "Any sign of how he got in?" said Tonks tersely. "Floo traces, anything like that?"

"Naturally not. We would have tracked them. Clearly our criminal had enough sense to realise that, and arrived here by Apparition. Ballantyne's protections were invitation-only, by the way, they would have had to be specifically adjusted to let anyone in or out. When I went back a little further with the _Priori_, I found that a spell was performed to let someone in – our killer, I would think – and then they were closed again."

"Can you tell who it was from the spell trace?" said Cassius with a hopeful look.

Lockhard shook his head with obvious reluctance. "Only very broadly, Auror Smethwyck. You field people always want us to give you all the answers, but you never get more than a spell echo from _Priori Incantatem_ ..."

"Yes, I know," he said mildly. "Over the years, I remember watching your branch develop the theory of spell echoes and then start to catalogue them. I always thought it was a very impressive bit of analysis. I'd just hoped there might have been progress in the years I was away."

"Oh, I see." Lockhard had the grace to look slightly disconcerted. "Well then – the trouble is that for a spell of this kind, the focus of the charm used is the _place_ being protected, rather than the person being admitted or refused entry on any given casting. That's just a sub-component of the spell, so the echo of it is overlaid. You only get a hint of their general appearance as the caster pictured it. I ... well, it _did_ seem to be a youngish man, but I wouldn't like to commit myself to that analysis. It _could_ have been a mannish-looking woman. The features were not at all clear."

"We'll take a look at it later," promised Cassius. "But how did he contact Ballantyne to ask for access to be opened in the first place?"

"Oh ... um ... I haven't been able to tell that. Possibly an owl? If so, the letter seems to have been destroyed. Were the Law Enforcement Patrol told to note any owls sent or received?"

"Yes, but they didn't report any," mused Cassius. "Well, except for the official owl with the trial date."

"Any chance of a witness?" asked Tonks

Lockhard snorted, evidently considering himself back on firmer ground. "Don't be ridiculous, Auror. No-one would have seen him Apparate in. I'm sure even our Mr Ballantyne had the sense to tell him to arrive in a back room, where the Muggles couldn't have seen him appear."

"What about going _out_, then? He obviously couldn't have Disapparated from the house if the protections were still there. You said yourself he left Ballantyne's wand in the garden. Someone could have been passing by?" Lockhard nodded at her tolerantly.

"Very possibly, but even if they did I'm sure our criminal wouldn't have omitted the simple precaution of a Memory Charm. He could have Disapparated as soon as he got clear of the grounds and found a suitable spot – very possibly even the place you pointed out to me. And unfortunately, it appears that whichever incompetent from the Law Enforcement Patrol set up the trace spells only set them to register visitors coming _in_."

"Damn!" said Cassius, looking as crestfallen as Tonks had ever seen him. "I didn't think to check. My fault, I suppose."

That drew him a condescending look. "Ah, well, you're only human. I'm sure you make mistakes like the rest of us, old chap." Lockhard's tone of voice suggested he didn't think he, personally, made them all that often. "No, I'm afraid that a witness would be too much to hope for."

"Any significant clues left behind by the killer at all, then?"

Lockhard shook his head with regret. "No, he must have been through the place with a fine tooth-comb and removed any hints to his identity. Except that we can, of course, deduce from that that it was someone well-versed in the procedures for concealing crimes. He seems to have taken Ballantyne's wand and scoured the whole house – I found a _remarkable_ number of _Scourgify_ echoes. Didn't you notice how unnaturally clean it was when you entered?"

Tonks snorted. _Er ... frankly, mate, most places look unnaturally clean when compared with my flat. And anyway ..._ "Look, to start with, I was actually more concerned with not walking into a possible ambush. And then I was slightly distracted by this bloodstained corpse that was lying on the floor?"

Lockhard smiled with indulgence. "Oh well, you'll learn. Anyway ..."

He was interrupted by slightly muffled cries coming from an upstairs room. "Hello! Hello! Is there someone there? Can you hear me? _Hello!_"

-----

Cassius glanced at Lockhard with a quizzical expression. "Nothing important in the rest of the house, old chap? I see."

"But ... but there couldn't have ... there _couldn't_ have been anyone in those upstairs rooms," said Lockhard, looking quite upset, and staring at the ceiling in the apparent hope that he would suddenly acquire the ability to see through it. "I couldn't have missed seeing a person up there – well, unless they were Disillusioned and kept very still ... or were wearing an Invisibility Cloak or something ..."

"Let's find out, shall we?" interrupted Tonks. She drew her wand and cautiously crept up the stairs, only stubbing her toe once at the bottom. She muttered a well-chosen swear word and carried on climbing. At the top she paused to listen. The calls were coming from what appeared to be a spare back bedroom, with the door slightly ajar. She took a deep breath, blasted it fully open with her wand and leapt forward with a Shield Charm at the ready.

Then she grinned and slipped the wand back into her sleeve.

"Well, where did _you_ spring from then, mate?" she said. "Never noticed you were active when we looked before." She turned her head to call downstairs. "Cassius? Mr Lockhard? I think we may have found our witness."

They trooped into the room with curious looks on their faces. The man in the small well-painted portrait hanging on the wall tapped impatiently on the side of his frame. "Are you Aurors?" he asked.

Lockhard stepped forward importantly to take charge. "Yes, we are," he said. "I'm from the Magical Analysis branch. Who are you? Why are you hanging in a room in a Muggle area?"

"Keep your hat on," said the painting with a touch of asperity. "Richard Ross is my name. And I'm used to keeping very still when people call. Fortunately, your two colleagues here barely glanced in my direction when they ransacked the place last week – they seemed to lose interest when they realised that there wasn't anything hidden behind my frame."

_Oops._ "So why are you hanging here then?" asked Tonks.

"Young Sylvester is my great great ... ah ... well, a descendant of mine, anyway. I happen to be one of the few members of our family who ever made a name for himself. Doubtless that is why they've kept me around." He preened slightly. "I was painted by the old master Cierascurro, you know, before he became famous. I must be quite valuable by now."

"You're an original _Cierascurro?_" began Lockhard with interest, but Cassius cut him off before he could take that line of inquiry any further.

"Your name _does_ seem familiar, Mr Ross. I've a feeling I've read it somewhere recently. What did you do?"

"I was a Chaser with the Falmouth Falcons from 1768 to 1782," he said proudly. "We won the league thrice. Sylvester said that he would have put me on display, but he was unable to hang me in the drawing-room in case he ever needed to invite a Muggle in." He hesitated, and his face lost a lot of its previous animation. "How is he? Is he hurt?" He must have seen something in their faces. "Is he ... dead?"

Cassius nodded sadly. "I'm afraid so, Mr Ross."

"Oh." He slumped back against the frame, looking devastated. "Then ... there was nothing I could do."

"No, it seems not, Mr Ross. Can you tell us what happened?"

"Yes ... yes, of course. The door to my room was usually left open; I heard someone contact him on that ... um, that Muggle Floo device, you know, the one that works without fire – amazing what they can do nowadays ..."

"A telephone?" _Of course. We never thought to ask the Patrol to check that, even if they could. _That's _why they didn't see any owls._

"Yes, that's right ... There was an argument. I heard Sylvester shout something like 'well, you'll have to pay more then!' He calmed down afterwards. I heard him cast a spell to let someone in, and then I heard an Apparition ... There was a conversation; I couldn't hear the exact words, but the tone was clear. They seemed to be talking in a perfectly reasonable manner for a while, but then it developed into another argument – I'm afraid both of them were threatening the other with ruin. After that I heard some shouts and bangs from downstairs, and then all of a sudden things went quiet. I didn't like it."

"Why didn't you sound the _alarm_?" asked Lockhard irritably.

"I _tried_," said Ross in an injured tone. "I do have another portrait in the Museum of Quidditch, so I immediately left to try to alert someone. But it appears they have changed the displays since I last visited there." He sounded very hurt by this. "My painting was put in the storage area in a cellar, and the heartless ... the curators have put a charm on the frames that stops you entering another person's portrait to move around the museum. So I was _not able_ to personally sound the alarm, young man."

"Humph."

"I shouted and shouted, but no-one came. I even attempted to persuade the other portraits to go and find someone, but all of them down there seem either to be half-asleep, or only interested in chattering about old matches. I have actually been checking back here every few hours to see if anything had happened, but I heard nothing for _days_ until you people arrived."

"Oh, very _well_. So there isn't much you can tell us, then?"

"Perhaps _when_ this happened?" interposed Cassius. "What day was it? What time of day, if you have any idea?"

Ross thought carefully. "It was the Sunday before the World Cup, sometime in the late forenoon. I remember Sylvester was just about to cook a meal when he received the call on the ... on the call thing."

"When we were both busy doing other things," said Tonks with a shrug.

"Yes, and at that time of day, I suspect there wouldn't have been much chance of any of the neighbours paying attention to people coming out of the house," said Cassius gloomily. "We'll get the Patrol people in to ask around, but I doubt they'll find anything." He turned to the Analysis expert. "Have you finished with the house, Mr Lockhard?"

"I suppose so," he said. "I'll give you my full report as soon as possible, but I think you know the important points. I'll take the wand, but it's unlikely we'll get any more from it. Will you search the house yourself in case our man left any incriminating papers behind?"

Cassius frowned. "We'll try. But as our artistic friend has pointed out, we searched here once before, without discovering anything particularly useful. Never mind. Can you take Mr Ross' painting back with you so they can take his statement in full?"

Lockhard looked affronted, but nodded. "Very well. Will you make the necessary arrangements with the Ministry? I do have other things to do – such as writing my _report_, for example."

Cassius smiled slightly, in a way that Tonks, by now, could recognise as insincere. "I'll do that. Thank you for your efforts anyway, Mr Lockhard. Will you make your own way back?"

"Of course, of course," said Lockhard fussily, as he tucked the painting under one arm, shook hands with them, and opened the front door. "I'll go back the way I came – from that patch of trees."

"Nice meeting you, anyway," said Tonks with a smile of her own. She knew that Cassius, by now, would recognise it as insincere too, but she doubted Lockhard would. A sudden thought prompted her to ask, "You're not related to Gilderoy Lockhart the writer by any ..."

Lockhard positively bristled. "_Lockhart?_ That charlatan? Why does everyone assume we're related just because our _names_ sound vaguely similar? I get so _tired_ of that! It's pronounced Lo-CARD!" He slammed the door behind him as he went out.

Cassius smiled at her, this time clearly sincere. "Well well. Looks like we're not the only people with unfortunate names ..."

"Obviously not, mate." Tonks grinned at him, a grin which quickly faded. "What _do_ we do about the body, and the house?"

"There's a section of the Department which takes care of this sort of thing," said Cassius, to Tonks' relief. "They'll handle the arrangements to find the next of kin, organise the burial, and contact the Muggle authorities with some cover story. I'll get them in to remove the body, then we can make a search."

Much to Tonks' surprise, the Ministry team arrived promptly and proved to be very efficient. Unfortunately, when they left and Tonks and Cassius made another thorough search, Lockhard's opinion proved to be correct; Ballantyne's house had apparently been stripped bare of anything that might have been a pointer to his killer. It was stubbornly free of secret passages, hidden rooms, or anything else that might possibly have been magically added to a quiet Muggle suburban home. The papers that were left failed to contain any useful information, even when they had cast every Revealing Charm they knew on them in the hope of uncovering hidden writing. They even tried Reconstituting Spells on the contents of the ashtrays, in the desperate hope that a message might have been burnt, but only acquired a fine collection of filter-tipped cigarettes for their pains.

Finally, Tonks stood up, gazed around her, and voiced what they'd obviously both been thinking. "There's nothing here, is there?"

Cassius paused in his third examination of the contents of a writing desk. His shoulders slumped. "No. I'm afraid you're right. Except ..."

"Yeah?"

"There are no records at all of any work done by Ballantyne. I would have thought he'd keep notes on who hired him for little 'jobs' for his own protection. You don't suppose they've been removed?"

She thought about it. "Maybe he didn't dare keep any?"

"Yes ... well, we'll have to ask around anyway, I suppose. Time to go, you think?"

Tonks looked around one last time. "Definitely."

They sealed the house again with spells that prevented access to anyone without a Ministry badge, called the office, and headed for the patch of trees.

"Where did you see that Ross bloke's name recently then?" Tonks asked as they went.

"Oh, him." Cassius grinned. "In those 1770s Quidditch yearbooks I got from Lore of Yore."

Tonks blinked. "But ... I thought she wanted to charge you thirty Galleons each for them after you – well, after you got into that argument with her?"

Cassius' grin became wider. "She did. And I paid it. Those were genuine original editions, not copy-charmed or Transfigured or enhanced in any way. I checked them thoroughly before I bought them. She obviously didn't realise just how _rare_ those early editions are, especially in such good condition. For a collector, they were still an absolute _bargain_ even at thirty Galleons."

Tonks laughed out loud as they slipped into the trees and out of sight of the houses. "Glad it's not just me who finds interesting stuff there, then!" She hesitated. "Look, this time when we inquire about the Borgia Book, I'd better be the one to call round and ask her about it, don't you think?"

"Definitely."

"I'll do it as soon as I can finish the paperwork on this." She paused for a moment, heart sinking; she still didn't feel comfortable about her contribution to making the murder possible, but didn't want to say so again in front of Cassius. "What are you planning to do when we get back?"

"Chase up the Wizengamot for the search warrant for Charlotte Perks' house. With a bit of luck, we might actually get one for the Blackstocks as well. Although I can't say I'm optimistic about that, not even in the current climate." He frowned. "Let's hope we get more useful results than we did here. I'd like to find _something_ that would indicate where Portia fits in. "

"No kidding." They looked around; there was no-one in sight, and they were well hidden in the trees. There were a couple of small popping sounds as they disappeared from sight.


	15. A Little Learning Is A Dangerous Thing

**14. A Little Learning Is A Dangerous Thing**

_Friday 28__th__ August 1994_

It soon became apparent to Tonks that her estimate of the amount of time required to complete the paperwork was wildly on the low side. There turned out to be a vast array of Ministry forms to fill out when a murder victim was discovered, ranging from the normal investigation report to a statement of how any magical side-effects were being hidden from the local Muggles (specifying in detail exactly what assistance, if any, had been requested from the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee). It took up all of her Friday and large parts of the Saturday – although she wasn't technically on duty that weekend, she blanched at the thought of what Scrimgeour might say if she actually took the time off. He'd been in a foul mood ever since the World Cup disaster.

The only break from the monotony came from a stream of pale violet memos that arrived in her in-tray. She uttered a loud groan when the first one arrived, expecting it to be yet another form to fill in; but perked up when, to her great relief, it proved to be from Chesney, written on the headed parchment of the Committee on Experimental Charms. It contained a diffident inquiry as to whether her workload had, just possibly, eased enough to give her time to meet up with him at some point over the next few days.

Tonks grinned, scribbled a return note asking what point he had in mind, tapped it with her wand, and it folded itself up neatly and flew off. Unfortunately, Rhiannon Davies had noticed the little exchange, and when she found out what it was about she couldn't resist sending over a series of teasing comments of her own:

_Ooh, was that from young Monty again? Doesn't give up, does he? – Rhiannon _

_No it's from Chesney, actually. You know, our team mate? – Tonks _

_So would you be free Saturday lunchtime then? – Ches _

_Sorry, Ches, it looks like I'm going to be stuck here all morning and most of the afternoon tomorrow. How about Saturday night? – Tonks_

_ANOTHER bloke asking you out by note? I thought you reckoned that was too old-fashioned? Cassius will be so proud of you! – Rhiannon_

_Sod off, Rhi. At least this one asked me to my face first, so I'll cut him a bit of slack – Tonks _

_Sorry Tonks – I wish I could make Saturday night, but I can't. I've got my brother and his wife coming round. Sunday maybe? – Ches_

_Can't, Ches. I promised my mum and dad I'd go over to their house for Sunday lunch and spend a bit of time with them for a change – Tonks_

_Passing notes to the boys you fancy again? It's just like being back at school, isn't it? – Rhiannon _

_Yeah right. What, does Scrimgeour hand out detentions if he catches you? – T _

_I hope they're not working your fingers to the bone down there! Lunch sometime this week maybe? I can always take an extended break without anybody complaining, it's all been rather sedate down here in EC! – Ches_

_Sounds good. If I have to I'll take an hour off and call it following a lead! – Tonks _

_Ooh, that's about half a dozen notes you've sent each other now! Must be true love! – Rhi _

_Sod OFF Davies – T_

-----

_Sunday 30__th __August 1994_

On the whole, Tonks' Saturday actually managed to be even less fun than the Friday. Cassius had returned to keep her company – most of _his_ Friday had been spent in Wizengamot Administration Services, trying to take advantage of the new climate of leniency to persuade them to take quick action authorising the warrants he wanted – but there were few other Aurors around, and the relatively empty office made for a very dull way to spend a weekend. When they finally came to the end of the paperwork it was well past seven o'clock in the evening, and both of them were too tired to care. At least Cassius felt optimistic about the warrant.

The quiet Sunday with her parents that followed, however, came as a considerable relief after the hectic events of the previous fortnight. She revelled in the luxury of being able to just sit back and relax, enjoy one of her mother's excellent Sunday roasts, and joke with her father about the relative merits of football and Quidditch. All in all, it was just like the Sundays she remembered from her childhood. Although she knew, at the back of her mind, that she wouldn't want to do this every weekend (or even most weekends), at this particular moment it was _exactly_ what she needed.

Her parents seemed to recognise her need to unwind, although as the evening wore on, they began gentle questioning about her work. Tonks stretched out on the sofa and talked in a guarded manner about her experiences at the World Cup. She could sense that her parents were alarmed on some deep level at the idea that she had been facing Death Eaters; but despite exchanging significant glances on several occasions, they made no actual comment. It was an uncomfortable situation, though.

A small empty frame on the wall caught her attention as a possible distraction. "Any word from the Gringotts painting about the bank robberies?" she asked.

Her mother rolled her eyes. "That painting actually has a subject, does it, Ted? I don't think I've seen him in there _once_ since you brought it home."

"Give him time, Annie," said Ted equably, stretching out on his chair. "We haven't had another case, and I hope we don't – sorry, Princess," he added hastily, "but I reckon the goblins would be quite content if the little toe-rag who did this had got enough to retire on, just so long as he doesn't do it again and get into the paper. You're not _supposed_ to be able to rob Gringotts. It'd be disastrous for business if we got a lot of publicity."

"You weren't _relying_ on this, were you darling?" asked Andromeda with a shrewd expression.

Tonks could tell that her disappointment must have shown in her face, and silently cursed the fact that her mother could read her so well. "Not as such, but it would be nice to really get something _right_ ..." She bit her lip, realising that she'd probably said too much. Glances were shooting back and forth between her parents again.

"Having a rough time, kid?" asked Ted, managing a lightness of tone that was quite impressive.

"Not exactly, but ..." Tonks sighed and lay back against the cushions. She knew she wasn't going to get out of this without saying _something_ about recent events, but as she tried to explain, she found herself saying far more than she'd intended to about her foolish behaviour in the alleyway, her uncomfortable meeting with Scrimgeour, and her guilt at the murder of Ballantyne, although she left most of the gory details and all the confidential material out of her account. Her parents just let her talk and talk until she eventually ran down and stared at the ceiling, unable to look them in the eye.

"You think you could have done something, is that it, kid?" asked Ted quietly.

"Yeah, I _do_, but ..."

"You made a mistake, love," he interrupted. "But you didn't kill him. OK, you can't tell us all the details, but it sounds like a _lot_ of things had to happen before it got that far, none of which you had any control over."

"That's what Cassius said ..."

"Well he was right, wasn't he? Seems like a sensible bloke, this Cassius. Don't beat yourself up, Princess, you're still a bloody talented girl, and it sounds like you've come a long way fast on that job. You're bound to get a few things wrong – but _we've_ got faith in your ability to make the right choices, kid. Always have had."

"Thanks, Dad." She reached over and hugged him, blinking back a tear while chiding herself for getting over-emotional.

"Sometimes you find yourself in a situation where you ... well, you think you should have noticed the signs, darling," added Andromeda, very quietly indeed. "But sometimes ... there _weren't_ any signs to see." Tonks looked at her sharply – it sounded like a reference to something that they never usually discussed – but her mother refused to catch her eye for a moment. She smiled and let it drop, to her mother's evident relief. She didn't want to spoil the moment by bringing up the topic of murderous cousins.

-----

_Monday 31__st__ August 1994_

Although Tonks' weekend had been uneventful, when she came back to work on Monday things started to happen at a rapid pace.

The first thing she found on her desk when she arrived was another note from Rhiannon. She began to read it with some annoyance, expecting it to be more teasing on the subject of Chesney, but the first few lines wiped any such thought from her mind. Rhiannon reported that the Muggle-killer had struck again up near Aberdeen, and that she'd been called in to do her 'psychic' act and unobtrusively check out the crime scene. Tonks winced. By the sound of it, the killing had been far more brutal than the Ballantyne murder she had discovered.

Cassius arrived just as she'd finished reading the note for the third time and she handed it to him silently. He read it with a growing look of revulsion on his face and then threw it down on the desk. "You know, I _loathe_ people who go after Muggles like that! It's sheer cowardice – picking on somebody who doesn't have the wherewithal to defend themselves just to play out their sick fantasies. I've spent most of my life working against those kinds of people."

"Do you think they'll actually find anything?" asked Tonks pessimistically.

"I doubt it," replied Cassius in the same vein. "We've had cases like this before, and it was almost always sheer luck if we caught them. A soft target, no obvious links to the victims, plenty of chances to clear up after themselves – it was all too easy." He looked at the note again in disgust. "And from the way Rhiannon describes this one, it was done by someone who knew their way around the Dark Arts and had _no_ problems trying to think of a suitable killing curse."

"Yeah," snorted Tonks. "Bet _he_ was the Pride of the Slytherins at school."

"What's wrong with Slytherins?" asked Cassius, in an injured tone.

"Apart from a few decent ones like my mum, you mean? Well, there's the pure-blood mania, the low cunning, the way they're mostly Death-Eaters-In-Training ..." Tonks trailed off as the implications of Cassius' statement dawned on her. "Oh bloody hell, Cassius, don't tell me you were one too?"

"Of course I was," he said, defensively. "What _other_ house would an ambitious pure-blood have been placed in?"

"But ..." Tonks wanted to continue with the words "you're not evil either," but they sounded stupid even in her head. She hesitated in embarrassment. "There was more to it than that, though, wasn't there?" she said finally.

Cassius smiled slightly at her discomfiture. At least he was taking it fairly well. "Not when _I_ was at school, no," he said. "We were proud of our heritage, but we weren't all like the generation that turned to You-Know-Who. That was one of the worst things ever to happen to the reputation of Slytherin house. But it'll pass eventually, now the war's over and done with, provided we don't get any more incidents like the World Cup Final. After all, no-one these days thinks Ravenclaw students are all dangerous freaks, do they?"

"_Ravenclaws_?" exclaimed Tonks. "Since when?"

Cassius looked surprised. "Didn't you know? A number of the key players in the group around Grindelwald came from a particular little 'academic' club who were devoted to research into some very Dark spells." His voice had taken on a slightly sarcastic edge. "I'm sure they were intellectually fascinating, but they were also extremely dangerous in the wrong hands. Wide-action spells, fire and flood, easy to get away with at the time because the effects looked very much like the things the Muggles were fighting their wars with. It was quite an unpleasant few years. After that, for a decade or so people were embarrassed to admit they'd been in the same house as them at school. Taint by association, you see …" He suddenly coughed and looked wary. "Um, you weren't one of them, were you?"

"Me? No, I was in Hufflepuff!" Tonks hesitated. She wasn't quite sure how to word what she wanted to say without being offensive. "It's not _just_ the recent crop, though, is it?" she said carefully. "Haven't most of the pure-blood movements been led by ... well, people like my aunts and uncles and cousins? I mean, the way we throw them all together as kids in this country, they've got to rub off on each other, haven't they? Not that I'm saying they're _all_ like that," she added hastily, hoping to stave off any counter-examples of terrible past crimes committed by Hufflepuffs that Cassius might be able to dredge up from his memory. "Obviously you're not and neither is my mum and there were some decent ones when I was there too and I'm sure there are now and ..." She paused to draw breath and stop herself babbling. "Didn't you have that sort of thing when you were a kid?" She marvelled for a moment. It was hard to imagine Cassius as a young boy.

His look was slightly regretful. "Well, it goes in cycles, I suppose. It _was_ the turn of the century when I was there," he said. "There was this feeling of a new era coming. An age of change and all that. Perhaps I was simply lucky to be there when people were quite tolerant. In my time, Muggle blood was just considered rather _common_, perhaps. A pure-blood who married into it would be … looked down on, maybe, or considered eccentric, or find themselves patronised, but they wouldn't generally be _ostracised_ or anything."

"No extremists?"

"There are _always_ extremists," he said sadly. "Like – well, like a lot of your mother's family, to be honest. I can remember a few Blacks shooting their mouths off even when I was young. But when I was growing up, people didn't take them _seriously_ – if anything, they looked on them as rather an embarrassment." He paused, and then added with a touch of bitterness, "But haven't there _always_ been people willing to whip up hatreds for the sake of nothing more than political advantage, whether they believe in it themselves or not? The Muggles do it, we do it, we're no better."

"The Muggles do what, Cassius old lad?" Tonks and Cassius both jumped at the sound of O'Gregan's cheery Irish brogue booming out, as he and Cornworthy rounded the end of the row of cubicles.

"Oh ... er, play politics with prejudices," said Cassius, flustered. "Just like us."

"No kidding," said O'Gregan, as he flopped down into a chair. "I'm not sure what me mam was more worried about when I took this job – that I might get involved with dangerous wizards, or that I'd be working with the English."

"You're Muggle-born, then?" asked Cassius with interest. "I hadn't realised."

"Course he is," said Cornworthy, with a snort. "How many people from wizard families do you know who like _football_?"

"Good point," commented Tonks. She wasn't in any position to contradict him, after all. Privately, she wondered if it might have been another reason for his wife's growing animosity once the first passion had worn off, but it didn't seem tactful to ask.

"Anyway, Cassius," continued O'Gregan, dismissing the subject, "I need to tell you my young lady won't be joining us, so she won't. She got called away to Scotland in the early hours on that other case of hers, poor girl, so you'll have to do without her."

"I know," said Cassius. "Never rains but it pours, eh? We'll just have to work this the best we can – a team of five is nice, but four of us should be more than enough." He reached to the back of his desk for a piece of parchment on which he'd written out an agenda. "I was going to get us a meeting room ... but I suppose we can just discuss this here," he added hastily as O'Gregan rolled his eyes. "It won't take long really."

"Fire away," said Tonks, hiding a smile.

"Very well. First things first – Administration Services sent me a note this morning to say the Wizengamot signed the search warrant for Charlotte Perks' house with barely a second glance. So I want you two to go down there and pick it up, then make the search as soon as you can."

"What about Little Miss Blackstock?" asked O'Gregan.

"No luck, I'm afraid." O'Gregan scowled at him, and Cassius shrugged in apology. "I _did_ ask around my contacts, Donnacha, but they still think we don't have enough evidence. Yes, I _know_ it should be more than enough under current circumstances, or even under normal circumstances, but he has his friends on the Wizengamot too, and their colleagues don't really want to get on their bad side – especially Madam Umbridge, because she has a lot of influence and is just the sort to play tit for tat. And they say it's been so long since it happened that we probably wouldn't find anything anyway."

"Excuses, in other words," said Cornworthy gloomily. "Delaying tactics?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Bloody Dark wizards buying their way out of trouble, you mean," muttered O'Gregan. "Are we just going to sit here and _take_ that, Cassius?"

"No," he replied, stung. He paused for a moment, clearly thinking hard. "All right, I agree that we have to do _something_. Trying to avoid letting her know that we have reason to be suspicious of her is all very well, but it hasn't got us anywhere so far. What we need is information on her _contacts_. Donnacha, weren't you trying to work out an arrangement with the Patrol to keep an eye on her?"

He shrugged. "I did my best. They say they'll try, but with everybody chasing World Cup leads and calling on them, they're too busy to do much about it."

"I see." He paused again. "Well, it's a desperation tactic, but ... you did say something about volunteering to follow her around for a few days under an Invisibility Cloak and find out the sort of places she went to. Were you actually serious about that?"

O'Gregan and Cornworthy exchanged glances. "Yeah, why not?"

"Very well, then. I'll fill in an Enchanted Instrumentation requisition form to get one for you. As soon as you're finished with the search of Charlotte Perks' home, make a start on that." He checked his watch. "You'd better get going, the Administration Services office will be open for business in a few minutes. Good luck."

Tonks carefully hid another smile as she watched O'Gregan and Cornworthy leave. She couldn't help noticing the difference in Cassius ever since Scrimgeour had placed him in charge of the Jacmel investigation. He'd taken to it like a natural – or more to the point, like someone with years of experience who knew exactly what to do – and it seemed to have done him a power of good. She got the feeling that she was now seeing something of what he must have been like in his prime.

"What about me, Cassius?" she asked brightly.

"I want you to visit that bookshop again. Try to find out who goes there, take a _good_ look at her stock. If you can, put a spell on anything that seems especially bad, so we'll be alerted if they're taken out of the shop."

"Like we used for Mrs Easton at the Transfigured Toad? Got it. I could even put a location spell on them, maybe? Then we could track them."

Cassius shook his head, to Tonks' disappointment. She'd thought it had been a good suggestion. "I don't think we'd get away with that," he said. "If you were a wizard inclined towards the Dark Arts, and you found a book like this in a shop apparently unknown to the Ministry, what would you do?"

"Oh, right. I suppose I'd check it for spells like that in case it was a setup."

"Exactly. But even if they notice there's an alarm spell on it, with a bit of luck they'll probably just think it's something cast by the _shopkeeper_ to deter thieves."

"Fair enough. Do I go officially or not?"

"As yourself?" He stopped to consider. "No, after my ... er, efforts last time that would probably just put her back up again, I'm afraid. I think you might get more information if you went there with the same appearance as before."

"Excellent!" said Tonks. "I'll nip back to my flat and change then go right there – it's not that far from me. I've been hoping I could give Mavis another airing."

"Mavis?" said Cassius, with a bemused look.

"Yeah, Mavis," replied Tonks, grinning. "I decided it was about time Little Mrs Anonymous had a name, so I'm going to call her Mavis Grimble if anyone asks."

"All right. Er, why Mavis Grimble?"

"Well, Grimble seems like a nice old-fashioned anonymous name, doesn't it? As for Mavis ..." She paused and grinned again. "Doing this job has made me realise I needed to brush up on my Muggle Studies sort of stuff, so I've been watching a few more of their programmes on the telly recently. I saw a character called Mavis on one of those soup-opera things who was _just_ like Mrs Anonymous. Perfect!"

An expression of dawning comprehension slowly spread across Cassius' face. "Oh yes, of course. My wife used to like that programme. I never watched it, of course. Well, only occasionally. Well ..." He smiled. "Actually, to be honest, I watched it often enough to know who was who and what they were doing. Rather addictive, aren't they?"

-----

One visit to Enchanted Instrumentation later – followed by an Apparation back to her flat, a quick change of appearance, and a journey across town – and Tonks once more found herself standing in front of the Lore of Yore bookshop.

She moved aside hastily as a dour-looking man left the shop at a fast pace with his head down and a couple of books tucked under his arm, then disappeared between a couple of parked cars. A sudden nagging thought at the back of her mind made her turn round to look at him – maybe his face had seemed vaguely familiar, or his clothes hadn't quite been right for a Muggle – but as she did so there was a sudden _pop_ and he was gone.

Tonks frowned; presumably Miss Orevel wouldn't be too keen on wizard customers who Disapparated and risked drawing attention to the place. For that matter, neither was she; but when she glanced around, it was clear that at least he'd chosen a good moment. The street was empty, and the cars would have hidden him anyway.

She shrugged, went in and nodded to Miss Orevel (who looked puzzled for a moment but then nodded back in recognition), and made her way to the rear of the shop. Unfortunately, there was another customer standing in the aisle leading to the charmed door that allowed entrance into the back room, and she was forced to spend an excruciatingly dull quarter of an hour looking at books of nineteenth-century poetry while waiting for him to leave. She did however notice that these works, though apparently just as obscure as the wizarding ones, were organised with equal care.

Fortunately for Tonks' sanity, the man eventually left, and with a quiet sigh of relief she stepped through the door (quite literally) into the back room. It was just as she remembered it from her first visit, although this time there were no other customers present, which was handy. She didn't want any witnesses for what she was about to do.

Tonks worked her way around the shelves examining the books on display, noting that Miss Orevel seemed to have added a fair amount of new stock since her last visit. That in itself was suspicious; surely small bookshops selling old and obscure books for the connoisseur didn't usually have that degree of turnover? It suggested certain implications which Tonks, as an Auror, found disquieting. As she went along she muttered the titles of any books that seemed dangerous, knowing that the small notebook she'd picked up from K on the way out of the Department would record what she said and compile a catalogue of the current Dark Arts-related stock of Lore of Yore.

She checked the shelves carefully for copies of _Most Potente Potions_, but found none, although she wasn't sure if that was evidence for or against the idea that someone might have been using Polyjuice. The shop did have several different editions of _Advanced Potion Making_, but it turned out on closer inspection that her rather hazy recollections of NEWT classes were correct – although the ingredients and a general outline of the brewing method were given for all the potions mentioned, even the earlier versions of the textbook didn't explain methods of manufacture in enough detail to enable anyone to actually _make_ the more dangerous potions. Regardless of that failed lead, however, there were plenty of other books that seemed worthy of concern.

Identifying books that might be dangerous wasn't as easy as it looked, of course. Some of them were unquestionably devoted to the Dark Arts – an obvious and worrying example being an academic treatise entitled _Theory of the Unforgivable Curses (But You'd Better Not Practice)_. Others, with dubious-sounding titles such as _Pure-Blood And Proud Of It_, turned out on closer inspection to be entirely innocuous – this one was subtitled _A Practical Guide To Researching Your Wizarding Ancestry_ and contained lots of exceedingly dull information about locating genealogical data in Ministry and family records. And conversely, still others seemed perfectly acceptable at first sight, but a quick glance through their contents showed how useful they could be to anyone with nefarious intentions – Tonks mentally classified a book called _How Not To Be Seen: A Guide to Invisibility, Unplottability, Nonlocatability and Generally Preventing People Knowing You're There_ under this heading.

She pursed her lips in indecision; she had a nasty suspicion that what she was doing was on the borderline of officially acceptable conduct, and she didn't feel like having to explain another screw-up to Scrimgeour. Eventually she decided to simply put discreet alarm spells on the most obviously dangerous books, keying them to a panic button as she'd done when tracking Beatrice Easton. Having worked her way through the entire stock, she glanced around; she'd been rather fortunate that no other customers had turned up, with Orevel remaining out of the way in the main part of the shop. The next problem was to work out how to get her talking.

Tonks eventually came to the conclusion that the only way to do it would be to actually buy some of the works in question, and smiled to herself; by the time she was finished with the place, she'd have her own _personal_ Dark Arts library. It took a certain amount of thought to decide which to choose, but eventually settled on the Unforgivable Curses book as the best potential talking point (and it was probably not a good idea to leave that one lying around anyway). She added a couple of books from the potions section with titles that caught her attention – _101 Interesting Uses For Eye Of Newt, Many Of Which Are Entirely Legal!_ and _Everything You Never Wanted To Know About Bowel-Burning Brews Because It Was Far Too Disgusting_ – and tapped the bell on the counter with her wand

Miss Orevel drifted in with a smile on her face. "Oh good morning, it's so nice to see you back again! Did you enjoy the books you bought before?"

_Loved them. I now know far more ways to make unpleasant poisons than I ever did before, always useful, that. Right then, time to play this up a bit._ She adopted a slightly gushing voice. "Oh yes, I did, they were _most_ interesting. It's so rare to find books like that nowadays outside of the big libraries. People don't seem keen to keep them in stock." _Mmm, I wonder why?_

Trina Orevel seemed flattered by this. "I know. It's such a pity. Just think of all the _study_ that went into old magical methods that people don't remember any more! Are you a researcher by any chance, Miss – or Mrs, erm ..."

"Grimble. Mavis Grimble. No, I'm ... just interested in obscure magic. I have a lot of spare time these days while my husband's away on business." She nearly added that he was a broom salesman for extra colour, but caught herself just in time when she remembered that Beatrice Easton had also been a customer here. She might be using her as a model, but there was no sense in making them sound too similar. "Academic curiosity, I suppose. I was in Ravenclaw at school, but I'm afraid I don't get much chance to use that training now." She blinked. _Mavis was a Ravenclaw? Where did that come from?_ She hadn't actually planned things out that far, but it seemed like a good approach for the sake of this conversation. Tonks was fairly sure that Trina Orevel wouldn't consider her a dangerous freak.

She was right – the bookseller looked delighted. "Oh, so was I, Mavis! It's so _nice_ to meet someone who has the same open attitude to learning as I have!"

"Ah, er, that's good." Tonks hesitated; the tricky bit was coming up, but she really had to try it. "I always worry that people will think badly of me for buying books like this. You know, if they start _gossiping_?"

"Oh, don't worry about that," said Orevel in a reassuring tone of voice. "No, I'm sure no-one will think any the worse of you for it. And I certainly don't attempt to keep track of what my customers do. It's their business, after all."

"Thank you, I'm _so_ glad to hear that." _Well, no I'm not particularly, but this version of Mavis would be._ She chose her next words as carefully as she could, and stumbled over them in a manner that was only partly assumed. "Aren't you ... well ... I mean, I'm just curious ... don't you get a little _scared_ at some of the people who buy and sell things like this – I mean, I would be, maybe that's just me ... I mean, I wouldn't _dare_ go down Knockturn Alley, but someone told me that ... that man who was in here last time I called, he has a _shop_ there." She shuddered artistically. "He didn't _look_ like a rough type, but I was just glad he didn't _hex_ me or anything ..."

Fortunately, Orevel was listening to this rambling with sympathy, and unbent slightly. "I know, my dear. Yes, I get some very odd customers at times, and I _do_ worry sometimes what they might do. But honestly, I get all sorts – some of them are looking for ideas for their business, others like to experiment, a few are amateur historians of magic. Most of the people who buy and sell books about the so-called 'Dark Arts' are really quite _normal_ people like yourself who just read them for the intellectual interest. "

_Yeah, right_, Tonks thought, but she didn't say it. Instead, she tried flattery. "How do you _find_ all these rare books? As I said, you have an _amazing_ stock for such a small shop."

Miss Orevel almost preened. "I know. I get some from house sales and the like, but actually it's quite interesting – people seem to know to offer them to me now. They like to read them and then trade them in for something else, so I really do have a very high turnover." Her face was practically glowing, with what Tonks felt sure was genuine enthusiasm. "I really wish people would give the _novels_ a try more often. It's absolutely fascinating to see how different they are – some of the nineteenth century literature especially, like Ena Troondeling who's a _wonderful_ writer. Do you know her works?"

"Erm – not really," said Tonks. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but she didn't want to put herself in a position where she was supposed to know what Troondeling's _oeuvre_ was all about.

"Oh, you _really_ should try them. I absolutely _loved_ her Adventure Club series when I was a child."

_Oh, so _she's_ the one to blame, is she?_ "I see – of course, I've heard of those, yes. For some reason I never actually read them, though ..."

"That's such a pity. Probably too verbose for the modern taste, I'm afraid – I think some of those old witches just didn't know when to put down their quills! – but even so ... Just a moment ..." Orevel came out from behind the counter and moved over to the children's section, where she picked out what Tonks presumed was an old edition of the first Adventure Club book – certainly the binding looked battered. Flushed with enthusiasm, she pressed it into Tonks' hands "Here you are, my dear. I'll throw this in. I do think you'll enjoy it."

Tonks took it with as much good grace as she could manage. "Oh ... thank you." _Well, I suppose I really ought to read it sometime._ "I afraid I didn't ever read much fiction, even as a girl. There wasn't much time for it, I suppose."

Orevel nodded in sympathy. "That's such a pity, you know. When I was at school it was just the same, we never really got much of a chance to explore the arts. There was a Book Club once a week in the evenings, but all the tutoring was in practical subjects. Maybe it's different now – I hope so, but I'm afraid I don't have any children to tell me. Do you, my dear?"

"Oh – er, no, no, I don't. Er, _we_ don't." _Oops._ _I'm supposed to have a husband, aren't I?_

The slip went unnoticed, and Orevel looked rather wistful. "Never mind. You know, that's why I love the Muggle literature out there so much" – she gestured vaguely towards the main part of the shop – "because they do have much better writers than we do on average, I'm afraid. And they're considered to be very important. Did you know their children actually have the chance to _study_ them at school?"

"Perhaps that's _why_ they're better writers?" suggested Tonks logically.

"I suppose so," said Miss Orevel with surprised look, as if the idea hadn't actually occurred to her before. "Classes in the language and its literature must really help to improve your writing skills, mustn't they?

"Probably, yes," said Tonks, uncomfortably aware of having allowed herself to be diverted from the main topic of interest to her, although at least it had got Orevel talking freely. She glanced down at the pile of books on the counter in front of her. "It's very kind of you to give me this ... the others are, well, all _right_ aren't they? I won't have to register them or anything?"

"Oh no, there are no problems like that, my dear. They're quite legal."

Tonks wasn't entirely sure whether that was true or not, but she fought down her mischievous urge to suggest that they go and check some of the books of Wizengamot statutes on the shop's less-frequented shelves. "Thank you, Miss Orevel ..."

"Please, do call me Trina."

_Very friendly of you. That's an opportunity ..._ "I'll take very good care of them, Trina," she said, "and keep them well hidden in case anybody breaks in. I wouldn't want them falling into ... well, you know, the _wrong_ hands." She hesitated for effect. "Don't you ... don't you sort of worry sometimes about what people could do with them? It really upsets me to think people might _steal_ them and use them for, you know, _crimes_."

For a moment she thought she'd overdone it, but Orevel just looked at her with an unhappy expression. "I know my dear, but what can one do? The Ministry are only too keen to interfere with my little business – they seem to think all my customers are potential Dark Wizards! I had a man round here a short while ago being _most_ aggressive and offensive – and he wanted to know who I was selling to! I mean, would _you_ have wanted someone like him calling on you to interrogate you about what you'd bought?"

"Er ... no, not really, no, I suppose I wouldn't." Tonks supposed Orevel had a sort of point there. If she reacted that way to Cassius, she definitely wouldn't like being questioned by someone like Shacklebolt or even Rhiannon.

"Exactly! I have to protect my customers."

Tonks didn't think she could make a comment about 'protecting the rest of us' and still stay in character. But she definitely thought it.

-----

"What do you make of her?" asked Cassius on her return to the office.

"Considered opinion?"

"Yes, please."

"Nice woman, not a Dark witch – but naïve at best, and quite possibly genuinely barking mad," said Tonks. "Apparently, she doesn't realise that most of the people buying her dodgier stuff are probably _real_ Dark witches and wizards, or at any rate looking for ideas in that direction. From what she said about sale-and-return, my guess is they're using her shop as a convenient way to launder embarrassing books, and find new ways to curse and poison people. I'll bet they just copy the interesting bits and bring them back. It's not like anyone's going to sue for breach of copyright, is it?"

"I see."

"So what do we do? I don't suppose we can actually arrest her for anything, but I don't know how you'd get through to her either."

Cassius smiled sadly "That's the trouble. I suspect that she's probably correct to say that she isn't _technically_ doing anything illegal. A few of those books might conceivably be on the Restricted Register, but I suspect most aren't because no-one's ever _heard_ of them." He snorted. "Believe it or not, I do have a certain sympathy for her point of view, but she is truly annoying. Her shop wouldn't have lasted five minutes under Barty Crouch's regime in the war. I just wish she'd be a little more _responsible_. I mean, think of customers like Alexander Burke – he's probably picking up items from her that he can put in his private collection, or turn a nice profit with if he feels so inclined."

"Like you with your Quidditch yearbooks, you mean?" said Tonks, grinning.

"That's not the same thing," he said, with a dignified air.

"If you say so. Can we get the Patrol to watch the place?"

He shook his head. "They haven't got enough people. Same old story. Even at the best of times I doubt they would want to spend much effort doing that, and with all the calls on them since this World Cup furore ... The best we can do is watch for those alarm spells, and check back every now and again to see what else has been sold. You'd better drop in from time to time."

"Will do, mate. What have you been doing while I was away, anyway?"

That rated a resigned shrug. "I went to have another talk with Mrs Easton – while she was on her lunch break, so as not to draw attention to her. I just wanted to make sure she hadn't had any further contact with our seller – and frankly, to warn her that it would be extremely dangerous for her if she did, now he knows we've used her name and appearance as bait."

"Oh yeah." _That's just going to keep haunting me unless we can catch him, isn't it?_ "He must _know_ it wasn't her, mustn't he? I did –" she paused to wince at her own idiocy and overconfidence that night "– I did tell him my name when I was pretending to be under the influence of that stuff, just in case he happened to know who I was. I didn't expect it to matter once we arrested him."

"I realised that." He smiled cautiously, and then obviously decided to drop the subject. "I also had another word with Finley McAllister – you remember, the landlord of the Transfigured Toad? I paid an official visit this time and asked him if our friend with the scarf had been seen there again in the last couple of weeks, but he was quite insistent that he hadn't. I wouldn't expect him to give an honest answer on the point automatically, of course, but I got the distinct impression that he actually _was_ telling me the truth, and getting quite a lot of smug enjoyment from being able to do so."

"Damn."

"I'm afraid so ..."

At that point, the main doors to Auror Headquarters were thrown open with what practically amounted to a flourish. Most of the Aurors present looked up, and either smiled or scowled as a grinning O'Gregan made a grand entrance, with Cornworthy following more sedately behind him. Tonks and Cassius exchanged looks. This seemed distinctly promising. "What's up, Don?" she said. "Find a bag of Galleons on the way in or something?"

"Better than that, my girl," he said, the grin on his face seeming practically fixed in place. He threw a roll of parchment onto the desk. "Much better than that. Take a look at this little baby, now."

Tonks picked the scroll up and unfurled it; it appeared to be the contents of several pages copy-charmed from a book. A light began to dawn as she started to read; the scroll listed the ingredients and method needed for making a number of unpleasant-sounding concoctions, including (to her complete lack of surprise) the Heart-Enfeebling Potion.

Cassius looked over her shoulder, ran his eyes down the page, and whistled softly. "Where did you find this, Donnacha?"

"In little Miss Perks' house," he said jubilantly. "Am I not right, Arnie?"

Cornworthy actually grinned. "You are. And that's not all, Cassius. We found a small enchanted cubby-hole under the kitchen floor with a cache of most of the ingredients you see listed there, some of which had obviously been _used_."

Tonks joined in the grinning. So did Cassius. "That's _excellent_, chaps," he said. "What did she say when you arrested her?"

"Nothing much," said O'Gregan. "Pulled the usual routine –" here he put on an exaggerated high-pitched voice "– '_oh no, I've never seen those before, I don't know how they got there!_'. Of _course_ you don't, dear. No-one ever does."

"There wasn't a bottle of Liquor of Jacmel, was there?" asked Tonks hopefully.

"Not a full one, no." O'Gregan's grin became, if possible, even wider. "But there was an unlabelled bottle with a few drops of some pale yellowish liquid left in the bottom. Magical Analysis are working on it now. What odds will you give me that it came from Haiti originally?"

"No takers," said Cassius, smiling. "You know, I think we ought to apply for a warrant to give our prisoner a dose of another potion, don't you? Just a little one – three drops worth. I'm sure the Wizengamot will sign off on _this_ one." He sat back, his grin slowly spreading to take on the same proportions as O'Gregan's. "It looks like we may have the answer to one of our little mysteries, doesn't it? And with any luck, once we actually interrogate her we'll get pointers to the rest of them. Well _done_, everybody."

-----

The rest of the day felt a little anticlimactic after O'Gregan's revelation, but no-one seemed to mind. Tonks, O'Gregan and Cornworthy spent the rest of the afternoon writing up accounts of their activities; Cassius disappeared for a while, and on his return reported that Scrimgeour had grunted and nodded when told about the discovery (he interpreted this as approval). Even better, the Wizengamot representative on duty had promised to organise a Veritaserum warrant as quickly as reasonably possible given the large backlog of requests from World Cup-related investigations. His grin was still fixed in place.

"Has anyone told Ashford about this?" Tonks asked as she packed up her things at five o'clock. "Or her cousins?"

O'Gregan looked up. "Now _that_ is a good point, it is. I'm afraid to say I forgot about that, now. I'll go and tell them on my way home."

"He's not going to be happy that it was his family, is he?"

Her colleague shrugged. "Ah well. Into each life some rain must fall and all that. It's never easy for the families finding out that one of their own is a crimin ... oh. Sorry." He coloured slightly.

Tonks sighed. "Never mind, Don. See you tomorrow."

As she left, she found herself unconsciously glancing over towards Kingsley Shacklebolt's cubicle. Her luck was in; not only was he still at his desk, he appeared to be alone. She made to approach him and then hesitated; although she _really_ wanted to find out what he wanted to tell her, she wasn't at all sure it was something they would want to discuss in the office. She managed to catch his eye when he looked up, and took that as a cue to walk over.

"Hi there!" she said brightly (and loudly, for the benefit of any other Aurors who might be listening). "Look, Kingsley, we didn't get off to a good start, but can we let bygones be bygones?"

"Er – yes, I'm happy to do that, Tonks." He shook her offered hand, searching her face to try to understand what she had in mind.

"Perhaps you could let me buy you a drink tonight to bury the hatchet?" She winked.

His expression cleared as he caught on. "Great idea. Ah, I just have to finish a few things ... can I meet you at the Leaky Cauldron at six, say?"

"No problem, mate." She smiled once and walked out without a backward glance.

-----

Tonks was rather surprised by how tense she managed to get while simply waiting for Kingsley in the Leaky Cauldron, especially when he failed to show on time. She had no idea what it was he wanted to tell her, after all, or what effect it might have on her. As it happened, if she _had_ known she would probably have been unable to stand the wait.

It was about a quarter past six when he finally arrived. Tonks tried not to fidget as he casually walked over to the bar, got himself a pint, then strolled over to her table in the corner.

"Cheers," he said, raising his tankard.

"Cheers yourself," she replied. "So, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Input on your cousin, Tonks. There are certain things that ... give me pause for thought."

Tonks looked at him cautiously, trying to appraise his expression. "In what way?"

"There are people who should, by rights, think him guilty, who seem to think he may actually be _innocent_ – despite the story he told being utterly ludicrous on the face of it," he said carefully. Tonks caught her breath as he paused. "And I want to know if you're one of them."

"No, I'm not," she said bluntly. "You asked me that before. Same answer as before. I'd curse him without a second thought if I saw him. OK, _yes_, if by some miracle there was evidence he was innocent I'd love it, but there's rock-solid proof he's guilty, isn't there?" When he remained quiet, she added uncertainly, "Isn't there?"

He shrugged. "I'd like you to _see_ the evidence, actually. How are you at keeping secrets?"

"Not bad. Why?"

"Because I'm not sure whether my team would take it well if I talked to you about this."

Tonks felt a nervous tingle run along her spine, and hesitated; she _really_ wanted to hear this, but ... "Look, Kingsley, I can't guarantee not to talk about something I _should_ talk about," she said, with considerable reluctance. "So if this is dodgy, perhaps you'd better not tell me."

He contemplated her for a minute or so while she shuffled in her seat under his gaze. "Listen, you don't get very far in this job without trusting to your instincts," he said abruptly. "Or your judgement. I'm going to take a chance and show you some information from the case files. Now technically I'm quite within our rights to do this, and there's no reason you shouldn't know if I tell you. All I ask is you don't spread it about. Not everybody in my team has all the information I have, and they definitely didn't see you in action at the World Cup, and some of them don't trust you at _all_."

"They don't even know me!" she said indignantly.

"Exactly."

_Oh, right._ Tonks wasn't sure what she might be getting into; but realised suddenly that she couldn't now bear _not_ to hear whatever it was. "You have my word I'll keep it quiet – unless it's really _necessary_ to tell someone. OK?"

"And do I have your word that you won't _freelance_? I don't want to get reports of you conducting your own little private investigation on the side that I didn't know about. That would be a complication too far."

_Oh, right._ She thought it over again as she sipped at her drink. "I _can't_ promise that, Kingsley," she said eventually, with a sadness in her voice even she could hear. "If you told me something I needed to … well, I don't think I _could_ just sit back and do nothing. You must _know_ that. It's just a case to you, after all. For me, for good or bad, it can't help but be _personal_." She picked up her bag and rose to leave, doing her best to hide a crushing feeling of disappointment.

"Wait a minute!" Kingsley looked at her in exasperation, and also stopped to think. "Look, young lady, I'd rather have you as an ally than an opponent on my case." He smiled mirthlessly. "And if I don't tell you anything now, you'll probably go poking around anyway, won't you?"

"Er ..."

Her expression must have given her away. He gave her a stern look. "Oh, very well. I suppose that all I'm asking is, _please_ don't get us both in trouble, Tonks. I'd like to be able to trust you."

_Oh, right._ "Fair enough," she said, shamefaced. "Look ... put this in your reports any way you need to do to cover your backside, Kingsley. I don't plan on doing anything stupid. I've had one verbal bollocking about freelancing from Scrimgeour already, and he's been in an even worse mood recently."

"Right." He looked around the pub with a trace of concern. "This is rather too public. We're only supposed to be having a bury-the-hatchet drink. Is there anywhere we can go that's more private?"

"Do you know where my flat is?"

He smiled at her. "Of course I do. We put tracer spells all around it when your cousin was spotted nearby, remember, in case he turned up there?"

"Right," she said, disgruntled. "OK. I'll go there now, you finish your drink and follow me in about a quarter of an hour."


	16. A Time To Reflect

**15. A Time to Reflect**

_Monday 31st August 1994_

This time, Shacklebolt turned up at Tonks' flat promptly. She bundled him inside, casting a nervous look around to make sure her Muggle neighbours hadn't seen him. They already thought her a bit strange, and someone dressed in Auror robes wouldn't exactly reassure them.

He inspected the lounge with interest, and Tonks found herself wishing she'd tidied it just a _little_ bit that morning. "You know," he said with a grin, "a few months ago, I'd have given a lot to get in here?"

"_What?_"

"To search for your cousin."

"Oh!"

Kingsley chuckled. "Don't worry, I'm not the sort to have any interest in whatever may be left of your virtue, am I?" He grinned again and sat down on the sofa next to her, pulling a small table towards him. "Now then, Tonks," he said, suddenly businesslike, "I spent a bit of time getting to work with the copy charms before I came to meet you, and I have a number of documents here for you to look at – fixed so only we can read them, you understand. Firstly, though, I want to know what _you_ know about your cousin's case, so I can tell where to start."

"Right, well ..." Now it came to the point of actually talking about her cousin, Tonks found it surprisingly difficult. She shrugged. "I don't suppose I really know much more than the witch or wizard in the street. We've never really discussed it within the family."

"Maybe you _should_ have," he pointed out. "Just tell me what you _have_ heard."

"OK." She steeled herself. "Well, he was best friends with the Potters, and young Harry's godfather. I _think_ he used to talk about them when he came round, it just didn't register at the time who he meant. Then he told You-Know-Who where to find them. Probably worked for him for ages. We heard all about _that_ when the war ended. And I know that –" she gulped nervously "– he was their Secret-Keeper. I only found _that_ out when I was seventeen, right out of the blue in a N.E.W.T. Charms lesson. The teacher somehow got to discussing Fidelius as an example of an advanced charm, and he used what happened to show how you absolutely had to trust the Keeper." She smiled humourlessly. "I got the impression he hadn't planned to tell us about it, he just sort of drifted into it and then couldn't back out – he didn't actually name names, but it was obvious who he was talking about. I don't suppose I heard a word of the rest of the lesson. It took me about a quarter of an hour even to notice that the rest of the class were shooting me funny looks."

"I can understand that," he said slowly. "And the events of the following day?"

"Only what I saw in the paper. Mum and Dad told me not to read it, but of course I sneaked a copy up to bed with me that night. My pillow was absolutely soaked with tears in the morning. As I understand it –" her eyes felt annoyingly moist _now_ "– a friend of theirs – Paul Patterson? – caught up with him, and he blew him up and took out half a street and a load of Muggle bystanders as well. The report said he just stood there laughing then till they came to take him away, but I suppose that was made up for the sake of a good story?"

Kingsley shook his head, to her surprise. "No, that's _exactly_ what he did. The man's name was Peter Pettigrew, by the way. I've got the _accurate_ reports here – you'll probably want to read them, at your leisure." He gave her a half-smile. "Try not to soak your pillow this time."

Tonks returned it. "Well, I know a good Drying Charm now. But ... _why?_ Why didn't he just Apparate away while he had time?"

"I don't know," said Kingsley with a shrug. "The official theory was that it was the point everything finally caught up with him mentally. He'd killed three of his supposed best friends, and a dozen Muggles who were _literally_ lying in pieces all around him, and he wasn't even going to have a glorious career as You-Know-Who's second-in-command to show for it ... You can see how that could turn a man's mind."

Tonks pondered this for a moment or two. "What did he actually _say_ at the trial? Or is that under a Secrecy Order from the Ministry? I never managed to find a report of it in the paper."

He snickered. "I'm not surprised. There never _was_ a trial."

"_What?_" Tonks was more shocked by this piece of information than she would have believed possible.

"The Emergency Powers Act was still in force," he said with a shrug. "Our Head of Department – not Boney, her predecessor, old Crouch – just signed an order to send him directly to Azkaban. No-one bothered much about trials at the time. Here's a one-way ticket, Mr Black, say goodbye to your happy memories. Welcome to hell on earth."

"Serves him right," said Tonks, annoyed to hear a slight note of doubt creeping into her tone. "And it didn't work for _him_, did it?" She was pleased that her righteous anger was more clearly audible this time.

"That's another thing we can't explain," he said, making Tonks raise her eyebrows. "Some idiot in the paper said he'd been gathering strength for a breakout, but you _don't_ gather strength around Dementors, you _lose_ it. For the record, we have _no_ real idea how he did it."

Tonks lay back against the cushions and thought, hard. "Do recent events make any better sense?"

He smiled at her. "I don't know. What did you hear?"

"I heard he tried to get into Hogwarts at least three times over the last year," she said promptly. "Then back in June, the _Prophet_ said they actually caught him there, but he got away again. Not much detail, though. I got a few bits of gossip second-hand from Rhiannon Davies via her cousin – something about young Harry Potter and his mates and Dementors being involved. Why aren't they reporting it?"

"Because we're 'trying to avoid letting Black realise how much we know'," he said, shrugging. "In other words, the facts make Fudge look bad, so we don't tell them anything we don't have to. Standard Ministry response. As to what actually happened, it's not easy to piece together. We only have two first-hand witness accounts, both from teachers at the school – who were always enemies, and disagree wildly on a lot of points."

Tonks slapped her forehead in sudden recollection of another _Prophet_ leading article. "Was one the Defence teacher? Turned out to be a _werewolf_, forgot to take his potion, ran off into the Forest, and got the sack when he finally decided to crawl back home in the morning?"

"That's the one. Remus Lupin – talk about names coming back to bite you! We hauled him in for an interview the day after he left." He dug out a roll of parchment from his bag and handed it to her. "I've made a copy of the transcript for you ..."

Tonks blanched. "Kingsley, there's _yards_ of it! Can't you just tell me the important bits?"

He grinned. "You use an Auto-Dictation Quill, you get _everything_, right down to the ums and ers. OK, let me summarise ... Lupin's apparently been a werewolf since he was a young kid. He said those friends he always went around with – Black, Potter's dad, and Pettigrew – found out and stuck by him, which was decent of them. He claims that Pettigrew then decided it would be really cool if he could turn into an animal too, and eventually persuaded the others to help him work out how to do the Animagus transformation." He smiled at Tonks' raised eyebrows. "Completely illegal, of course, but he said they didn't realise at the time ..."

"Yeah, _right_."

Kingsley snorted. "I know, but I checked and technically, they wouldn't have been breaking the law. There's a duty on Animagi to register, but not on anyone else to turn them in if they _don't_. Lupin said Pettigrew learned how to turn into a rat, and when he arrived in the Shack to find Black and the kids there ..."

"_Which_ kids? Harry Potter, presumably, who else?"

"Two of his friends. Ronald Weasley – one of Arthur Weasley's sons; you know, the man who works down the corridor from us in Misuse of Muggle Artefacts – and Hermione Granger, who's a Muggle-born, but apparently top of the class. According to Lupin, he knew they were all friends with Rubeus Hagrid ..."

"The gamekeeper? Huge, lots of beard, nice enough bloke but a bit batty about monsters?"

"That's the one," he said, with a look of mild annoyance. "Tonks, do you think maybe you could let me finish without interrupting all the time?"

"Sorry. Go on."

"Yes, well, er, Lupin," he said, evidently trying to regather his thread. "He thought they might sneak out to console Hagrid over a dangerous Hippogriff of his they were going to execute that evening. So his story is that he was watching them on one of those security maps showing the castle and grounds –" he paused, apparently expecting another interruption, and looked slightly surprised when Tonks didn't make one "– and he saw _Pettigrew_ on it, then Black arriving and dragging Weasley and Pettigrew into a tunnel leading to the Shrieking Shack, then the other two chasing after them. He said he was so shocked he forgot what night it was, forgot _everything_, and ran down there in a panic as fast as he could."

He paused, and continued in a more thoughtful tone. "This is where it gets even odder. Apparently Black managed – _somehow_ – to convince both him and the children that Pettigrew was being kept as a pet rat by the Weasley boy, and that _he_ was the one he'd been after, not young Potter. Lupin said he noticed the rat had a toe missing, so he found Black's contention that Pettigrew had cut it off himself before vanishing plausible. You wanted to ask a question, by the look of you?"

"Yes," said Tonks, embarrassed. "OK, suppose for the sake of argument Pettigrew _was_ still alive and _could_ turn into a rat? I wouldn't blame him for getting away from Si ...my cousin any way he could. He'd already killed fourteen people, hadn't he? I suppose staying in hiding all these years would be a bit excessive once he knew he was in Azkaban, but ..." She trailed off uncertainly.

Kingsley nodded in approval. "That was Black's point too. He claimed the Potters switched to _Pettigrew_ as Secret-Keeper as a bluff; and he was tracking _him_ down for revenge, not the other way round; and that Pettigrew blew a hole in the street as a diversion, then vanished into the sewers below as a rat. So far, so implausible, but Lupin insists he actually performed the Homorphus Charm on the boy's rat; and lo and behold it turned into Pettigrew, who had no good explanation. So they started off for the castle to show him to the authorities and clear Black's name – but the moon rose, Lupin changed, and Pettigrew escaped in the confusion."

"How very inconvenient," said Tonks sarcastically.

"Indeed. Then the Dementors who were guarding the gates turned up looking for Black, and nobody's quite sure what happened after that. The Potions master had followed them, by the way, but he'd been knocked out, and when he woke up the Dementors were just leaving." He nodded again at Tonks' raised eyebrows. "It's quite an ingenious story, really, although in the absence of Pettigrew in whatever form there's no proof, of course."

"Do _you_ believe Lupin?" asked Tonks, with a shrewd look.

"He didn't seem like he _thought_ he was lying," said Kingsley, cautiously, and (to Tonks' mind) rather evasively. "And both Fudge and Dumbledore believe he went to rescue the kids. I wasn't able to get a Veritaserum warrant for him at the time, but it wouldn't necessarily have helped, because the _other_ teacher's theory is that the whole lot had been Confunded by Black. And in that case Lupin would have told exactly the same story under Truth Potion, and _believed_ it. That was a known Death Eater trick, after all."

Tonks nodded; she remembered Featherstone discussing it. "It was a big thing to make him believe, though – change his whole _childhood_, almost. Wouldn't it have worn off by now? If you asked him again, might he have a different story?"

"Not necessarily. It depends on the strength of the charm. And I haven't had the time to go up to Leeds and match wits with him. Come to think of it, it might be worth applying for a warrant again in the current climate ..."

"Worth a try. How come no-one got bitten, by the way?" She wasn't at all happy with Lupin's story, and suspected Kingsley might be recounting it the way he was to test her powers of analysis. "On his _own admission_, they were all next to a transforming werewolf who'd missed his dose of Wolfsbane. It's not like you can just Stun a werewolf, is it? They're too resistant. You'd expect _someone_ would have been hurt."

He looked pleased by the question. "Well, he said that although he hadn't had the _last_ dose, he'd already taken enough of the stuff over the previous few days to keep a measure of control and awareness, once the initial shock of the change was past. He said he felt he could smell humans in the Forest too, so he was able to force himself to run off towards them instead, and then of course once he was inside there weren't any there to tempt him."

"Is that right?" asked Tonks sceptically. "I thought a werewolf had to take the full course?"

Kingsley shrugged again. "I checked with Werewolf Support Services _and_ with St Mungo's. If the potion's brewed properly, a dose or two in the week before the full moon can be enough. The effect's cumulative, and the closer to the full moon it's taken, the more effective it is. So I think he probably _could_ have been just about sane enough to be able to do what he claimed. He certainly seemed very ashamed of himself for forgetting how much time had passed. The school Potions Master brewed the Wolfsbane for him, so it should have been adequately prepared."

Tonks scowled. "The Potions Master? Snape? He taught me. Miserable git, but to be fair I suppose he does know his stuff."

"He wasn't much different as a boy, from what little I can remember. My assistant spoke to him the day after, but his report said that the man seemed almost insane, so I don't know how much faith to put in his story. He had a _lot_ to say for himself, though. There's another dozen or so yards of parchment here for you to examine if you want."

Tonks flipped through the roll. "Yippee."

He gave her a cynical grin. "He's convinced Black is guilty, thinks there's an excellent chance he and Lupin were working together, swears blind there was no sign of Pettigrew as either rat or human, and is sure Potter and his friends helped Black get away. Although since they were all out cold when he brought them back to the castle, and the kids were locked in the hospital wing after that, I think he's barking up the wrong tree _there_. Our Professor Snape has a nice little range of conspiracy theories, reluctantly accepts the logical possibility that they were Confunded, but feels sure Lupin and Potter were in cahoots because of the map."

"I see." Tonks felt overwhelmed by all this new information, and unsure what to query first. "That security map," she said, seizing on the most concrete thing she could think of. "Where the hell did the werewolf get _that_ from, even if he _was_ teaching Defence? Aren't maps of public buildings strictly controlled? And why would Snape think it had anything to do with _Potter_?"

Kingsley burst out laughing. "Oh, now _that's_ a tale. Lupin said he first saw one as a teenager, when he came to the Ministry for his annual sign-in on the Werewolf Register. He and his friends decided that a map showing where the teachers and prefects were would be a _most_ useful thing to have, and somehow they managed to find out how you made one. Before you ask, Potter and Black were top of the class, they were well known for it. Lupin claims that the caretaker eventually impounded it, and assumes young Harry must have discovered it somehow and appropriated it for his own use._ Snape's_ theory is that Lupin had the map all the time and gave it to his old friend's son to wreak havoc with. Apparently he caught him with it, but didn't realise what it was, and Lupin spirited them both away. Our Professor Snape was _literally_ spitting mad about that. Lupin cheerfully confesses to getting Potter out of trouble for old times' sake, but maintains he was as shocked as Snape, confiscated the map, and kept it to watch them with."

"Why wouldn't Black conceal himself, then?" argued Tonks. "If he'd done any scouting, he must have _known_ Lupin was back, and might have this map and be watching for him ..." She suddenly recalled something from Lore of Yore. "Although there's a Nonlocatability spell, isn't there? Is it only good for hiding from owls, or can you use it to keep you off those maps?"

He nodded. "Very good, Tonks. Yes, you _can_, but used that way it's a rather complex reactive charm – you have to get _within_ the magically mapped area first to cast it. And it needs a wand, of course, and we're not sure he's got one."

"He didn't have one when he was spotted near my place, did he? What happened to his wand after he was caught?"

He chuckled. "It's currently residing in a display case in the Departmental Dark Museum. They do like to have a murder wand to put on show. He's welcome to drop by to fetch it, of course ..."

_Murder wand?_ That sounded like something Lockhard had said. _'Having the murder wand available is always useful, we so rarely have that luxury.' _ She sat up suddenly; her ability to think clearly seemed to be returning, and her mind seemed to keep making connections at the moment. She mentally kicked herself for forgetting to ask about such an obvious piece of evidence. "What were the ... er, spell echoes?" she said curiously. "The echo from the blasting spell must have been clear proof. The wand would have been confiscated as soon as they arrested him, yeah?"

"Oh, it was," said Kingsley bitterly. "But they didn't get anything useful from it."

Tonks stared at him. "They didn't? How come?"

"Because one of the Hit Wizards who arrested him tried to act tough. Damn fool was probably scared out of his wits. He waved the wand in Black's face and shouted that they could _prove_ what the last spell he cast was." He snorted. "The imbecile cast _Prior Incantato_ instead of _Priori Incantatem_, so he only got the _last_ spell. It wouldn't have mattered if he'd kept _going_, but he didn't – did you know you only get one chance to extract spell echoes? Once you separate the wand tips it erases the record. So we lost an opportunity to prove him guilty, not that there was much doubt. That last spell was just an ordinary _Accio_, by the way."

"A _Summoning_ spell? What the hell was he trying to Summon?"

Kingsley threw his hands up. "I don't know. It wasn't as if he was exactly sane, was it?"

"Right." She looked away, unsure quite what to make of this piece of data. "This map. What happened to it when Professor Wolf-Man left?"

"He claims he left it with the Headmaster to donate to the new Defence teacher if he felt so inclined. I'll assume that's true until I hear different from Dumbledore."

"You haven't _interviewed_ him?" said Tonks in astonishment.

Kingsley gave her a sideways look that she thought seemed decidedly shifty. "He dropped in at the Ministry to make a statement before he flew off to Stockholm. Unfortunately, young Rawlins was the only one of my team on duty at the time, and he doesn't like taking the initiative, especially when overawed by someone like Dumbledore. So he just wrote down what he said and didn't ask many questions." She snorted. "The old man said he thought Black might have been telling the truth, by the way," he added casually.

"He _did_?" Tonks gaped at him. When Kingsley had told her that unexpected people believed Sirius might be innocent, she'd assumed he just meant members of his Auror team – not _Dumbledore_. She could feel her brain threatening to fog up again. "You said you only had two witnesses. Didn't you interview the _kids_?"

"No," said Kingsley with a look of annoyance. "The word we got from both Dumbledore _and_ Fudge was that we shouldn't bother them."

"Why not?" asked Tonks, astonished yet again.

"Damned if I know. Well, as far as Fudge is concerned, I think he wanted to kill discussion as quickly as possible in case the _Prophet_ slated him for letting Black get away from under his nose. And to be fair to old Dumbledore, he tries to keep his students away from outside interference. He statement said that the kids haven't pressed him about the matter, and as he put it, '_it seems they may have accepted the idea that they were Confunded_'. Make of _that_ what you will."

"What did the Minister say when you interviewed _him_?"

Kingsley raised his eyebrows. "You have _got_ to be joking, Tonks. We have a signed statement sent from his office, basically saying none of what happened was his fault, and we were lucky to get that."

"The Dementors?" said Tonks, without much expectation.

"Ha ha. They don't know what happened and they don't care. They're just furious that Black got away again. No-one seems to know why they left, by the way, and they're not interested in telling. Another mystery. Maybe _Black_ managed a Patronus before they all collapsed."

"Right … When did Siri ... Bla ... er, my ... oh, you know. When _did_ he escape? _How_ did he escape?" Tonks flushed, annoyed with herself.

Kingsley looked at her sharply, but evidently decided to let it go. "_When_ is easy enough," he said calmly. "A little before midnight. Dumbledore was the one who actually interviewed Black – by the sound of it, Fudge was too scared to stay and say more than a few words to him, despite having the company of the most powerful wizard in the world, and Black being Incarcerated." He snorted. "Anyway, our Fearless Leader ordered Macnair – the executioner he brought along for that Hippogriff – to fetch a Dementor, then shot off to talk to Snape. Dumbledore offered to try to get Black to confess, but he gave up on that at about 11.45 and left him to go and check on the kids."

He paused. "But as to _how_ he got away? That's a bloody good question, Tonks. He was magically bound to a chair, in an office that contained nothing more helpful than some third-year Charms essays, on the seventh floor of a tower with sheer walls, and with the door and windows spell-locked. When Macnair got back with the Dementor, they found the window open and Black gone. And there you have the story. Any theories?"

"Not really." Tonks lay back on the sofa and thought hard again. "This Macnair. He couldn't have been one of You-Know-Who's lot once and decided to help an old comrade get away, could he?"

Kingsley shook his head regretfully. "He's a nasty piece of work – enjoys his job too much for my taste, friend of your uncle too – but there's no evidence of a Death Eater past. I took advantage of Boney providing us with extra resources to have him checked out, but he came up clean. And there were _witnesses_ when he got back to the room. Good idea though."

"Right." Tonks smiled to hide her disappointment. She racked her brains to think of other possibilities. "He couldn't ... oh I don't know, have been _another_ Animagus, assuming they weren't lying about Pettigrew or Confunded? Maybe had a go at it himself on the quiet once he'd found out how to help his mate? He could have turned into a – a bird or a bat or something and flown away?"

Kingsley chuckled. "My, my, Tonks. You're showing more original thought than some of my team have in the last year! Actually, I did sort of consider that briefly when Lupin mentioned it. It half explains _some_ things, but it doesn't account for how he got the window open without a wand. I'm not even sure an Animagus _could_ transform while Incarcerated."

"I can Metamorphose," offered Tonks. "I did it several times during Evasion and Escape training. Came in quite handy."

"I wonder if it applies to Animagi too?" mused Kingsley. "That's a learned talent, not an innate one. There's only one currently registered flying Animagus, and he's an Auror. I'll have to ask him. Interesting information, though."

Tonks turned her head sharply at the phrase _interesting information_. He'd used it at the World Cup, but he still hadn't explained what it was. "That's a point, Kingsley," she said, feeling her way. "You've told me lots of stuff, but last time we talked you said you had something _new_ you weren't sure about." When he didn't reply, she prodded him with her elbow impatiently. "So? Are you going to _tell_ me what it was? Having got this far, you might as well ..."

He studied her carefully, at great enough length that she was preparing to elbow him again, then sighed heavily. "I suppose I might. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon. Yes, I have some potentially disquieting new information." He rummaged through his bag again; then handed her a copy of a longish letter written in a narrow handwriting on moderately familiar-looking headed paper. He smiled briefly. "See what you make of this ..."

Tonks took the letter. As she read it, her jaw began to drop without her realising:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY 

_Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore_

_Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards_

_Dear Kingsley,_

_I hope you will forgive the informality of a personal note, but as I understand it, you are currently the man charged with the responsibility of locating and recapturing Sirius Black. Naturally, I should first offer you my congratulations for attaining such a position of responsibility at so relatively young an age. Although your talents were obvious while you were studying here, it is always a pleasure to see one of my former students succeed in living up to their potential._

_As you know, I have already recounted to a colleague of yours at the Ministry a brief outline of the happenings of the evening of the sixth of June as they presented themselves to me. But in the rush of events, I may perhaps have failed to explain my impressions with sufficient clarity. I would therefore consider it a kindness if you would permit me both to re-emphasise and to expand upon what I said on that occasion._

_I must confess that when I volunteered to interview Mr Black that night, my main motivation was an intense personal curiosity about his role in the events of Hallowe'en 1981, which have haunted me ever since. I had __never__ been able to comprehend what could have led him to betray friends in such a manner, and my hope was that he might provide some shred of self-justification that would at least clarify his motivations, even though I could not possibly agree with them._

_When I confronted him, however, to my astonishment he instead recounted a very different and most unexpected story; one I discovered subsequently had been told to my former Defence teacher Professor Lupin, and my pupils Messrs Potter and Weasley and Miss Granger, while they were all together in the building colloquially known as the 'Shrieking Shack'._

_His contention, as of course you will recall, was that Peter Pettigrew was both an illegal Animagus with a rat form, and the true Secret-Keeper for Lily and James Potter; that he had in fact been the __real__ traitor among those sworn to oppose Lord Voldemort thirteen years ago; and that he had himself committed the multiple murders and then faked his own death in order to escape when Mr Black hunted him down the following day (with, it must be admitted, revenge in mind). This story, and his claim that Mr Pettigrew was revealed during the confrontation in the Shack, dovetails perfectly with the stories told by my students that night, and with that of Professor Lupin when I was able to interview him the following morning._

_As you are doubtless aware, Professor Snape was also present at this scene, although unfortunately not conscious for much of the time. He has formed the reasonable conclusion, based on the events that he was personally in a position to witness, that my students had been subjected to a powerful Confundus Charm, and stated as much at the time to Minister Fudge, who was visiting the castle on business. I understand that he feels that Professor Lupin was either also under the influence of such a Charm, or indeed had assisted Mr Black throughout the year. However, the three students concerned have shown no subsequent signs of the mental disorientation that is the typical after-effect of being Confunded, and as you know, I have stated my belief that Black's version of events is in fact the __true__ story. _

_You may well have wondered how I was able to do so with such confidence. On reflection, I am afraid that it is time for another confession. One of the many obscure branches of magic that I have found it necessary to study in my time is that of __Legilimency__, or what is often colloquially (albeit imprecisely) known as 'mind reading'. I am sure that you will be familiar with the concept from your training, although I understand that it is not commonly taught to Aurors because of the great length of time usually required to achieve any degree of proficiency. I am a sufficiently practised Legilimens that if I so desire I am generally able to determine if someone is lying to me, especially when it is possible to make full eye contact. You may perhaps now realise why it was that my students were seldom able to convince me that they were telling the truth if the situation was otherwise!_

_Naturally, given the limited time available to me to interview Sirius Black, I opted to use this technique – as you are of course aware, one of the privileges of my senior position on the Wizengamot is the right to use such intrusive methods on my own authority in an emergency situation. Greatly to my surprise, however, not only did Black make no attempt to resist, he actually begged me to use the technique to examine his mind and his memories. I did so, and was further astonished to discover that he appeared to be speaking with absolute sincerity about Mr Pettigrew's abilities and his guilt. The story that he told, while extraordinary, nevertheless explained many little details I recalled about his behaviour in the year 1981, and that of Peter Pettigrew, in a manner that finally made sense._

_It is of course possible for a master Occlumens, or the truly insane, to succeed in concealing contradictory thoughts and giving a false impression even under such pressure, but such abilities are rare. Inasmuch as it is within my power to determine, I feel sure that Sirius Black falls into neither category. I used all of the considerable skills that I possess to probe his mind using the most powerful techniques available, and found it to be, although (not unnaturally) slightly unbalanced, very clear and open._

_I would therefore regard it as a personal favour if you would give __serious__ consideration during your investigations to the possibility that his remarkable story may in fact be the truth. As you will of course have realised, __if__ Black's story is indeed true, certain consequences follow logically: _

_Firstly, a great injustice has been done to an innocent man who has suffered terribly in Azkaban, and is still a fugitive unable to make any attempt to resume his life._

_Secondly, the time and resources the Ministry are currently directing towards his recapture are misdirected, wasteful, and potentially misleading, especially if it is contended that he had a hand in the recent disturbances at the Quidditch World Cup. _

_But finally, and most importantly, it means that Peter Pettigrew is a fugitive once again, and may well intend to return to his old master now he has nowhere else to go. If he were to succeed in locating Lord Voldemort and assisting him to regain his old powers – and I have reason to suspect that he would know where to begin looking – the consequences for the peace of our world would be terrible. I cannot emphasise enough that we ignore this prospect at our __very great peril_

_You are of course free to make use of this information in whatever manner you wish. I would consider it a kindness, however, if you would restrict its circulation to those who are able to make direct use of it, as far as may reasonably be possible. I would not wish to interfere in the workings of the Ministry, nor indeed to raise any suggestion that I __appear__ to be doing so._

_I am, yours most sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

-----

There was silence in Tonks' flat for at least five minutes after she reached the end of Dumbledore's letter. She had no idea what to say; she found herself reading it again and then yet again, as she tried to come to terms with its deeply unsettling contents. Kingsley just sat and watched her with an amused expression.

"Wow," she said weakly, when the silence had stretched out to the point where she felt she _had_ to say something.

"What do you make of it?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know. The old man's a Legilimens, eh? Wow." She gave an uncertain laugh. "Explains one thing anyway. I thought I was being clever at school meeting his eyes when I was denying any knowledge of the mischief I'd just got into. I never could work out how he knew I was lying through my teeth. Guess I hexed myself in the foot there, eh?"

"I'll ask you the same question you asked me a few minutes ago," said Kingsley, still in a very quiet but surprisingly intense voice. "Do _you_ believe him?"

Tonks looked up at him. "I don't know," she said in a similar tone. "I don't _know_, Kingsley. I ... I suppose I _want_ to, but ... come on, it just _can't_ be true. Can ... can it? What do your team think?"

"They don't. I haven't told them." He smiled when she gasped, and then looked her directly in the eye. "I discussed with them once what might happen if we found Black and had to put him under Imperius, or interrogate him under Veritaserum. The consensus was that if he had the mental strength to resist the Dementors all those years and still talk rationally to Fudge, he might well be able to throw off both those things. I don't know enough about Legilimency – _yet_ – to know if that would work the same way, and I don't especially want to look a fool in front of my team by raising outlandish theories. But as I said before, I'm sure there's a part of _you_, deep down, that really _does_ want to believe your cousin is innocent. And now I'll ask you again what I asked you then. What would you do about it?"

"Did you know this when you asked me?" she said with asperity.

He shook his head. "No. As far as I knew, you were simply a brash new Auror with dubious relatives, and Rawlins was an idiot for taking down Dumbledore's statement wrong and making it sound ridiculous. Then, about the time you were chasing after that woman down on the south coast, I got this letter – and that rather wiped the smile off my face. So again, what do you intend to do about it?"

"So again, I don't _know_. When I came to talk to you, I thought you were going to tell me ... where you thought he was hiding out or something. I didn't think of this." _What exactly do you _expect_ me to say, Kingsley? You drop this on me out of the blue when I've spent a decade not thinking about it, and expect a quick answer? Dream on._ "What do you _want_ me to do? Do you _really_ not want me to freelance, or was that just for show?"

He smiled wryly. "Well, I wasn't sure how you'd react. I've been taking some time for hard thinking over the last few weeks, and I'm not sure how _I_ react. I never quite understood why Black did it – it seemed so unlike him – and then when I got the letter, well ..."

"_You_ take Dumbledore seriously, then? You're not just doing this to humour the old man?"

Kingsley snorted so loudly that Tonks jumped; the sudden noise made her realise just how quietly they'd been talking. "Not take him _seriously_?" he said incredulously. "_Everybody_ takes Dumbledore seriously!" He pointed to the heading of the letter. "When the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot – technically my boss – who is also the titular head of the _International Confederation of Wizards_ asks me as a 'personal favour' to give something serious consideration, then yes, I damn well _give_ it serious consideration. He may have his conceit of claiming to be only Headmaster of Hogwarts and not involved in politics, but he's a powerful man – he has a _lot_ of contacts and a _lot_ of influence, regardless of what Fudge does. So yes, I take him _bloody_ seriously."

"Fair point," said Tonks, feeling slightly abashed. An icy feeling seemed to be creeping up her spine as what she'd read slowly sunk in. "Kingsley, do you get the feeling there's something ... odd going on here?" When he nodded, she added, "You don't _really_ think there's a chance Pettigrew might be out there helping You-Know-Who to come back, do you?"

"I don't know _what_ to think. But like the man said, we ignore the possibility at our peril."

Tonks swallowed. "Kingsley? You know something? You're scaring me."

"Good. I'm scaring _me_."

A suspicious phrase suddenly came back to her. "Wait a minute ... what did you mean when you said it 'seemed so unlike him'? Kingsley, did you know Unc ... Sirius Black _before_ all this happened?"

"Ah, yes." He did, at least, look embarrassed. "_Everyone_ knew Black and Potter when I was at school. I didn't know them _well_, you understand, they were in a different year, but you couldn't help noticing them and hearing all about them. Neither of them could ever have faded into the background if they'd tried. It would never have crossed my mind that either of them would betray the other."

Tonks shifted on her seat. There was one other person involved that she wasn't at all sure about. "What about this teacher – the werewolf one? You said he was one of their gang too, do you really trust him? _Could_ they have been working together all year and fooled everybody?"

He shook his head. "Lupin? No. Dumbledore trusted him, for a start, and you'd have to be pretty good to fool Dumbledore for a whole year. More to the point, he wasn't even _there_ when Black's mind was being sifted through, so he didn't have a chance to influence things. I'm sure there's _something_ he isn't telling me, I just don't think it's _that_. And Black hasn't been spotted at his house."

"How do you kn … oh right. Tracer spells round the Wolf's Lair, like the ones you put on my flat. How reliable are they?"

"I'm not really sure I should tell you …" He pursed his lips, hesitating. "Oh what the hell, with what I've told you already, I suppose I've already made the decision to trust you, haven't I? They're keyed to Black's personal aura; we took an imprint of it when he went into Azkaban. They'd automatically trigger as soon as he crossed the line, unless he was Transfigured into something very different – a rabbit or a hat or whatever. We might have been better off with something like the spells they use on those security maps, but at the time we had to rely on the Patrol to do it and they didn't have anyone capable of casting them. And since both Black and Lupin know how they work, they'd be easier to detect." He smiled wryly. "Oh, and you probably shouldn't refer to Lupin as 'the werewolf one'? I _know_ it's easy to get into bad habits around Auror HQ, but to be fair they're just people when the moon isn't full."

"Hey, I know that," she said defensively. "I've read _Hairy Snout, Human Heart_. It was a set book for N.E.W.T.s!" She shook herself, feeling embarrassed. "Some of the ones I've met have been OK, but most of them _do_ seem a bit shifty. Can't look you in the eye."

Kingsley smiled. "I'm not surprised, if they know you're from the Ministry. You know, I get that feeling sometimes when I'm out and about in Muggle London?"

"Why? They can't possibly realise you're a wizard, surely?" said Tonks, baffled.

"No, no, it's because of my skin colour," he said with amusement.

"Your _skin_ colour? But that's just ridic … oh."

"Exactly." He gave her an ironic little nod. "Still, I'm no better. I seem to remember telling you I didn't trust Blacks. A lot of their law enforcement people don't seem to trust ... well, blacks, actually, as far as I can tell. We sort by blood, they sort by colour. Same difference, I suppose."

"I suppose." Tonks glanced at the clock and raised her eyebrows; it was surprisingly late, and she knew she would need time to digest this. "Right, mate," she said briskly. "Let's get down to business, shall we? You still haven't said _what you want from me_. I'd like to find out more, obviously, but I'd prefer not to get the sack for sticking my nose in where I'm not wanted."

"I'm not asking you to," he said quietly. "I would like your help to explore ... well, the _background_ to the case, for a start. Use your family connections to find out what the people who knew him best _really _thought, maybe get an idea of where he might hide out, who might take him in, whether he could have access to money or other resources. I'd really like to ... well, have a word or two with your cousin before I make up my mind on this."

"Hideouts? What about that old family home? He was seen in London, after all, and it must be empty now since old Great-Aunt Walburga popped her clogs. Or did she disinherit him?"

"Apparently not. I looked it up – it seems there's a tradition that it goes to the oldest male Black regardless, maybe even an entail. So he's now the legal owner. Assuming he could get in, of course. We couldn't even find it exactly – his old man turned it into some kind of fortress – but we put tracer spells on the whole square and a half-mile radius around it, and he hasn't tripped them yet."

"Doesn't the fact that he was in Azkaban make any difference to the will?"

He shook his head. "No, under the Statute of Wizarding Inheritance, criminal convictions don't generally affect property rights. Not only can _he_ inherit, in fact, but the next in line is probably your aunt as his eldest surviving cousin."

Tonks groaned. "Mad Aunt Bella? Wonderful. Isn't there any way to prevent that?"

Kingsley grinned. "If she did us a favour by bumping him off, perhaps. Apparently, in a moment of common sense sometime last century, the Wizengamot decided it would be reasonable to stop people profiting from their crimes – so under the Statute, you aren't allowed to inherit anything from your murder victim, unless there's a specific inheritance enchantment requiring it." He grinned at Tonks' look of disbelief. "Yes, there _were_ pure-blood families that considered fratricide of lesser consequence than dynastic preservation. Not to be rude, but I wouldn't be at all surprised if your mother's family were one of them."

Tonks snorted. "Neither would I. So basically, you want me to play some long shots that can't get you in trouble whatever happens? Thus demonstrating you really _can_ trust me, and we'll take it from there?"

He smiled. "I knew you were sharp. Yes, that's about it."

_Flattery will get you ... well, somewhere I suppose._ She could feel a headache coming on. "Look, Kingsley, can we leave it here? Please, mate. I need time to take this all in."

"No problem. You'll see me around at work, obviously. Keep that stuff out of sight, and have a quiet word if you find anything. We don't have any new leads, so we'll all be going through the motions with routine investigations – the usual boredom." He picked up his bag and looked around. "Can I Apparate out?"

"What? Oh, yes," she said distractedly. "That's not blocked or anything."

"Good." He nodded at her and treated her to a knowing smile. "Well, thank you for inviting me, Tonks. I'll leave you to your thinking then." With that, he vanished with a small popping sound.

Tonks glanced around her flat with unseeing eyes. It took her a moment or two to realise that she'd started to tremble from the delayed shock reaction. Then she quickly scooped up the rolls of parchment, took them into her bedroom, and stashed them away in the small secret compartment at the bottom of her wardrobe. It was charmed against both magical and non-magical intrusion, but she'd rarely had any real use for it before. She added another password charm for good measure, then glanced into her mirror, and was not at all surprised to see someone rather frazzled looking back.

"You look _terrible_, dear," said the mirror in a tone of concern. "Rough night?"

"Rough?" said Tonks with a dull laugh. "You're not kidding,"

-----

_September 1994_

After the highly eventful day her Monday had been – indeed, after the highly eventful month her entire August had been – Tonks was privately relieved that the beginning of September turned out to be a far quieter time that gave her the opportunity for careful consideration.

The most important topic, of course, was the bombshell that Shacklebolt had dropped out of a clear sky. She spent the next several evenings reading through the pile of notes he'd left behind and attempting to digest their contents. As she did, she found herself beginning – with an uncomfortable mixture of familiar reluctance and highly unsettling hope – to draw the same conclusions that he had. The accepted story of the case, the one reported in the newspapers, really _didn't_ make a lot of sense – and unlike most of the other cases reported in the newspapers, it didn't make any more sense once you'd seen the additional information in the Auror files.

On the other hand ... although the story her cousin had told _did_ seem to fit some of the facts rather better than expected – if you were willing, just for the sake of argument, to start from its premises – there was still the problem that there was no evidence to suggest those premises were reasonable ones, and several things about the story were just as unlikely as the official line.

Tonks couldn't shake the feeling that she was missing something simple but terribly important.

Kingsley might have labelled routine investigations as 'boredom' – but Tonks actually found them quite relaxing under the circumstances. The Wizengamot were dragging their feet over the warrant for Charlotte Perks, while privately, and contradictorily, giving them a nod-and-a-wink indication that it would shortly be forthcoming. The team's somewhat cynical consensus was that the sudden influx of requests for warrants had overburdened the limited ability of the Administration Services bureaucracy to process the necessary paperwork. Cassius seemed surprisingly unconcerned by this, informing the rest of them in an airy manner that it wouldn't hurt to let their suspect have the opportunity to 'think things over' for a while.

Miss Perks was certainly going to have every opportunity to do that. The analysis of the bottle found at her house came in a few days after the arrest, and to Tonks' excitement it did indeed contain a trace of Liquor of Jacmel (a fact immediately passed on in the hope of speeding up the Wizengamot's decision). The information proved quite convenient in other ways too; their suspect's legal representative had tried his best to get her out of Auror custody, so Cassius charged her with 'possession of Liquor of Jacmel' – on the grounds that even a few drops were enough to keep her in the holding area of Azkaban.

Meanwhile, O'Gregan had informed Mackenzie Ashford about the arrest of his niece and the evidence found in her home, which news had left him predictably shattered. The Irishman reported sadly that it was clear the man had been hoping against hope that it hadn't _really_ been one of his family who were involved, and even dropped round on a couple of occasions away from work to attempt to console Ashford. Tonks was amused, although it did raise her opinion of her colleague a notch or two.

However, both she and Cassius were happy to push the Ashford case to the backs of their minds and leave it to the other two to work on, while they themselves concentrated on the Ballantyne murder. With occasional help from the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol, they started the slow process of interviewing everyone they could find who knew, or might have known, Sylvester Ballantyne.

Tonks had her suspicions of Benjamin Farley, given that he had been dosed with Liquor of Jacmel and might be seeking revenge; but when they called on him, he vehemently denied knowing Ballantyne or anything about his murder, with a look so comically panic-stricken that she reluctantly accepted he was probably telling the truth even without the assistance of Veritaserum. More to the point, there was no record of him visiting Ballantyne, and he seemed completely baffled when Tonks mentioned the concept of a telephone conversation.

After the arrest of Charlotte Perks, Tonks had half written off Portia Blackstock's connection to the affair as just one of those apparently inexplicable things that would doubtless become clearer in time. She had half-hoped that a bottle of Polyjuice Potion would turn up in Charlotte Perks' hiding place along with the Jacmel, but there was no trace of such a thing – and as Cassius pointed out, they would still have to prove that Charlotte had a link to Portia before it became relevant, not to mention break her still-solid Parisian alibi for the night in question.

Much to Tonks' surprise, however, O'Gregan and Cornworthy were taking their plan to trail Portia in search of such a connection seriously. Her colleagues were spending many of their work hours in Birmingham – taking turns to follow her around doggedly under a requisitioned Invisibility Cloak, and making discreet inquiries among both women's contacts trying to find a link between them. Much to Tonks' amusement, they had little of value to show for it.

Portia seemed to have no especially close friends or companions ("not even a _hint_ of a serious boyfriend, what a bloody waste," Cornworthy reported dryly). When she ventured out, she spent a little time at the offices of the charity at which she helped out (without seeming to do very much, except make light gossip with her fellow volunteers). She spent a lot of time shopping (but not from any notably disreputable vendors). Occasionally, she visited a beauty salon in the Magical Market (at the thought of entering this, even while invisible, O'Gregan blanched and called in Rhiannon Davies to help). She went to a formal evening function with her parents on one occasion (spending most of it looking politely bored and allowing the rest of the table to make dinner-party conversation). And she spent much of her time at home (where even O'Gregan had the common sense not to interfere). In fact, in general she behaved over these weeks in a manner that the Irishman described in disgust as 'exceptionally vacuous'.

Tonks grinned and went back to studying the transcripts of the latest round of interviews, and surreptitiously checking out the daily bulletins for any developments in the Sirius Black case.

-----

Another side benefit of the slower pace of work-related events at the beginning of September was that it finally allowed Tonks the leisure to meet up with Chesney Thompson from time to time, just to see what might happen – at first, over a quick lunch break in the Ministry canteen, then longer lunches in the slightly less hectic setting of Florean Fortescue's, followed by actual proper dates out on the town. Her mirror was beginning to get snappy with her again, after giving its opinion on suitable hair styling for the seventh time in as many minutes.

Tonks smiled to herself as she sat in the Leaky Cauldron one evening and considered the boyfriend she seemed to have acquired without quite planning to. The wizarding folk group that had been playing a set (a truly terrible one, as it happened) had taken a refreshment break, and Ches was currently fighting his way through the crowds at the bar. He was, she decided, definitely a nice bloke – in fact the way he was acting, it almost seemed as if he'd taken lessons in being a gentleman from Cassius Smethwyck. _Or then again, maybe he's just a little hapless!_ Tonks actually wasn't bothered either way; at least it kept things nice and relaxed. She had far too many complications going on in her life already for the moment to bother dating anyone who was going to cause her further hassle.

"What did you think of the show then?" he said as he returned with another round of drinks.

"Honest answer?"

"Please ..."

She grinned. "Bloody awful!"

He grinned back in relief. "Whew, I'm glad you said that. I was afraid you'd think they were the next Weird Sisters, and I'd have to lie my head off."

"Yeah, right," Tonks laughed. "How did they ever get a booking?"

He shrugged. "There aren't all that many wizarding bands, I suppose. My brother said they weren't bad, but then the one who was playing the guitar at the back is an old mate of his."

"Him?" Tonks raised her eyebrows. "He couldn't get the notes right if he charmed the strings! Come to think of it, I reckon he _did_. I'm sure I saw him playing one-handed at some point."

"Wouldn't be surprised. He always was lazy. Alfie – my big brother – reckoned he's got doing things at the last minute down to a fine art. Always been like that, even as a kid at school."

"Didn't we all?" Tonks chuckled.

"Fair point," he said, smiling. "You know, I don't remember you, but you must have been there when I was."

"Must have been about five years behind you, though," Tonks pointed out. On the whole, she hoped he _didn't_ remember her, as her schooldays behaviour had been considerably less respectable than that which might be considered to befit a future Auror. And she didn't particularly want Chesney to put two and two together, and associate her with the troublemaking Metamorphmagus who had achieved a certain minor notoriety. She breathed a slight sigh of relief as he gave no sign of making the connection.

"True. Weird how conversations on dates often seem to come back to Hogwarts, isn't it? Erm, I mean ..." He trailed off, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Yeah, I know, I've noticed it too," said Tonks, smirking at his confusion. "That's the bloody trouble with being a witch or a wizard, everybody anywhere near your age went to the same school at the same time! Maybe we should make a new rule: always prefer someone at _least_ seven years older. Or younger," she added with a smirk.

"Oh ... right," said Chesney, with an uncertain look.

Tonks smiled mischievously. "Never mind, Ches. For you, I'll make an exception."

"Good." His grin returned. "Not ashamed to be seen in public with me then?"

Tonks glanced around in exaggerated fashion. "No, I suppose not. After all, I let you drag me out here to watch dreadful bands, didn't I? And if all else fails and somebody sees me, I could always Memory Charm them or something to keep up my reputation."

"Oh yeah. So, would you be willing to risk a big Ministry bash with me then? If you're going ... I mean, it's a good do usually ..."

"The Ministry Hallowe'en Ball, you mean?" said Tonks, interested. "Yeah, I've already got my ticket for that. Does that mean I don't have to look for a partner as well?"

"Well, if you'd like to ..."

Tonks smiled. "Of course I would, you twit. Thanks for asking. As long as you don't mind not much actual dancing being involved, though? I don't do dances."

"Why not?" he said, a little crestfallen.

She smiled again, rather sadly this time. "Come on Ches. You know me well enough by now, don't you? I sometimes trip over my own feet when I'm _walking_. Trying to do a _foxtrot_ is a bit ... well, ambitious."

"Ah." He looked at her in assessment for a moment, then what looked very like an evil grin spread across his face. "Well, we may be able to do _something_ about that."

"What?" she asked suspiciously.

"Wait and see!"

And try as she might, no amount of cajoling or threatening would get any more out of him than that. She briefly considered the possibility of being worried by whatever it was he had in mind, but then decided just to let it go. After all, she really _didn't_ need any more complications to worry about.


	17. Together Alone

**16. Together Alone**

_Monday 7__th__ September 1994_

"You can't make sense of it? That's a shame, neither can I," said Kingsley, when she mentioned her views of the Black case notes to him over an 'accidental' meeting at lunch. "There are probably one or two little pieces of information that would make the whole thing make perfect sense, if we only had them. But then, that's Auror work for you," he said with a grin. "Hasn't Cassius told you that yet?"

"At least a dozen times, mate," she said cheerfully, making a face.

Kingsley nodded in recognition, but forbore to comment. "How's your potion-pushing case going? I heard that you arrested a suspect, but there hasn't been anything else from Cassius in the daily bulletins. What has she said?"

"Nothing much," said Tonks with a shrug. "Denies any wrongdoing, claims she must have been set up, but refuses to discuss the details of the case, or her relations with her uncle or any of the other suspects –" here Tonks' voice took on a sarcastic edge as she imitated a tight-lipped Charlotte Perks "– '_both on principle and on the recommendation of my legal advisor_'. Very much a stand-on-her-rights sort of girl, our Charlotte. She claims – hang on, how did she put it? – we have '_no evidence worthy of the name and therefore no reason to treat me like this_'. I don't know if she _believes_ that or not, but at any rate, the old 'if you can explain this away we'll let you go' trick didn't work on her."

"Which you wouldn't have done anyway, of course, regardless of what she said."

"Well, no …"

"Ah. Sounds like she has more than half a brain, then That's always annoying in a suspect, isn't it? _Do_ you actually have any evidence, by the way?" he added casually.

"Well, Don and Arnie found all that stuff in her house," said Tonks, suddenly defensive. "And she's got a pretty obvious motive with all the money Ashford's got. And the only time I talked to her, she really didn't seem to like Aurors much – might have been scared, I suppose?"

"It's possible. Then again, a lot of people don't like us very much." He took a bite of his sandwich and chewed for a moment, looking thoughtful. "I heard Cassius was asking for a Veritaserum warrant while the going was good, is that right? A delay might help, though – allows plenty of time for any countermeasures to fade."

Tonks snorted. "They'll certainly have the chance, because they're taking their sweet time over that warrant. Think we'll get it?"

"At the moment?" He paused to consider. "Yes, actually, I'm pretty sure you will. If that's all the evidence you've got you wouldn't have stood much chance under normal circumstances, of course, but since Old Boney lifted the lid off the cauldron … yeah, they'll probably sign off on it. Give them a bit of time – they have to pretend to be carefully mulling it over before saying yes, after all, and they're snowed under at the moment." He chuckled. "Everyone in the Department has been putting in requests – for the things we always wanted to do, but never had the chance to before. Don't know how long it will last, but it's nice while it does, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Well, I suppose so." She grinned at him. "I haven't been here long enough yet to tell the difference, you know."

He looked at her in surprise. "No, you haven't, have you? How long _have_ you been with us now?"

"Erm, hang on ... it's only a couple of months, isn't it?" She blinked, in equal surprise – it had seemed much longer. "A lot's happened in a short time. Nothing like being thrown in at the deep end, eh?"

"I could have done without it, personally." When she raised her eyebrows at that, he added softly, "The war was still on when I started the job, remember."

"Ah, right. Sorry." Tonks winced, but reflected that a mere couple of weeks ago, she wouldn't have been able to have this kind of conversation with Kingsley in the first place – or indeed, any kind of conversation that could be described as polite, so even a gaffe-prone one had to be an improvement. "Nothing much else happening on our case now, anyway," she said to change the subject. "We're just going over the info we have, and scratching around trying to get a bit more, and waiting for that warrant. Everything's gone a bit quiet really."

Kingsley nodded sagely as he got up. "True. That's how Auror work goes too, Tonks, I'm afraid – extended periods of boredom and frustration, mixed with random bits of heart-stopping action. You just happened to see a lot of action early on. Here come the boredom and frustration ... another thing Cassius probably told you."

Tonks smiled wryly to herself as he left. _He might have, yeah. At least _two_ dozen times._

-----

_Thursday 10__th__ September 1994_

"You're _really_ following Portia Blackstock everywhere under that thing?" asked Tonks a few days later, spotting her colleagues troop into the office wearing a very disgruntled look. She tried desperately to stifle her giggles. "Even into shops, and those charity offices? What happens if someone bumps into you?"

"No-one thinks much of it in a crowd, so there," said O'Gregan with dignity, tossing the Invisibility Cloak over the partition of his cubicle. "And they put her out on a sort of reception desk in that charity office to look decorative, so I have been able to stand out front, quiet as a very discreet kind of mouse, and listen in. I was hoping that they would say something useful and interesting about Miss Perks, so I was, but no luck."

"You're obsessed, aren't you?"

"No! Well ... maybe a little. I do not like pretty little rich girls who think they can get away with murder ... or attempted murder in this case, although that is not for the want of trying, is it now?"

"He may be a trifle _biased_ against pretty little rich girls," said Cornworthy to Tonks _sotto voce_, although with a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"I _heard_ that, Arnie," said O'Gregan in an aggrieved tone.

"So this Blackstock girl hasn't said anything at all about Perks then?" asked Tonks thoughtfully. "That's odd in itself, isn't it? The arrest did get a brief report in the _Prophet_ – you'd think _someone_ must have seen it, and there can't be so many people working at that place that one of them being nicked on an Azkaban charge isn't worth talking about, even if she was only an occasional volunteer ..."

"They did discuss it a _bit_," said Cornworthy glumly. "With a sort of ghoulish relish, of course, although young Portia didn't contribute anything enlightening. Don here seems to be hoping that she'll somehow break down in terror – but that doesn't sound like a girl who had the nerve to walk into a place like the Transfigured Toad bold as brass on a rowdy Friday night, does it?"

"Did she give any hint she'd been there?" asked Tonks. "Surely she must have _met_ Perks, at least? She worked at that charity a bit as well."

"Not very often, though," said O'Gregan, for once sounding almost as glum as his partner. "Portia didn't show any obvious signs of interest when the subject came up, eh, Arnie? She did the _oh-I-would-never-have-thought-it-as-far-as-I-could-see-she-seemed-like-a-nice-enough-person_ bit, but that's all." He ran the words together in a squeaky, high-pitched voice that was apparently meant to be an impression of Portia Blackstock (but sounded more like an out-of-breath house-elf to Tonks). "But everyone else seemed to know enough about her, so I don't see why little Portia would not do so. I mean, come on now, blonde or not, no-one can be _that_ dumb."

"Don't let Rhiannon hear you say that," said Tonks, grinning.

"Ah well, exceptions to every rule ..."

"Let me hear what?" said Rhiannon Davies in an innocent voice as she walked up behind her boyfriend. She gave Tonks and Cornworthy a quick wink to indicate that she'd heard perfectly well. The momentary look of horror on O'Gregan's face was beautiful to behold, however.

"Ah ... eh ...that you're not getting anywhere on that there case of yours, my love," he said quickly, with a pleading glance at the other two Aurors, who did their best to remain straight faced.

It had the desired effect of distracting Rhiannon from what he'd said, though, She scowled. "Don't I know it. Same pattern on the latest incident, for your information. A Muggle kidnapped in an out-of-the-way spot – up near Inverness this time – followed by the usual Cruciatus, as far as we can tell from a first test. Then killed, branded, and left for their police to find. This is one sick bastard we're dealing with here, but he knows how to cover his tracks."

"Branded with _what_?" asked Tonks, nauseated.

Rhiannon shrugged. "I suppose it means something to him. Like a ... oh I don't know, a teardrop inside a circle with lines around it? Find me a meaning for _that_, at least we'd have somewhere to start. Anyway, I came to tell Cassius that if he needs any help, I can chip in again if he likes. I'm certainly not getting anywhere." She glanced around. "Where is he, by the way?"

Tonks shrugged in turn. "No idea. He wasn't here when I got back from Knockturn Alley, and he didn't leave a note." Rhiannon raised her eyebrows. "I was talking to some of the vendors about Ballantyne – as myself, this time."

"Any luck?"

"No chance. We had a vague hope that _somebody_ there would have liked Ballantyne enough to help us by talking about who he might have known, or at least be a bit worried they might be targets too – but if anything, it's affected them the other way. They made a sphinx seem informative."

"Pretty standard, then. Are you checking up on Charlotte Perks' contacts?"

"Er, when we can," Tonks said evasively. She hadn't given it much thought. "These two were doing just fine on that. I don't suppose the link will be that easy to find, will it?"

"No indeed," said O'Gregan, with a sour look. "None of the people we talked to seem to think they were particular friends. Of course she could have met her privately ... but we wouldn't know, would we? We should have kept a closer eye on Little Miss Portia _before_ we made the arrest. She's been very careful not to slip out of the house unannounced since then."

"How can you be sure?" said Tonks, intrigued.

To her surprise, O'Gregan looked rather shifty. "Trigger and Tracking Spells," he said in a voice pitched a little lower than usual. "Cast _very_ gently so as not to disturb the little lady, but we always know when she leaves the house. We're just waiting now for her to come out. Soon as she does, we'll Apparate straight there."

"Donnie ..." said Rhiannon, with a worried look. "You know we're not _really_ supposed to use those on people's homes without a good reason, even Scrimgeour doesn't think they're worth the potential aggravation –"

He dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "Ah well, at the moment I daresay no-one will care, will they? And I maintain that with her seen with Farley in the Toad, we have _more_ than enough suspicion of her to justify it, so I do." He lowered his voice again. "And not to gossip, but the way things are going, I wouldn't be at all surprised if Scrimgeour didn't change his mind. The rumour I hear from Ben is that he's pressing Boney to allow us a _lot_ more leeway, now."

"I suppose ..." said his girlfriend. "I wish you _did_ have more than suspicion on your case, though. Are we _completely_ sure that evidence wasn't faked?"

"No, we're not, but you still come back to the fact that it's not easy to mimic someone _specific_, don't you?" said Tonks. "You need pretty good Transfiguration or Potions skills usually, and you need to know who you're impersonating, and Charlotte Perks _did_ know her."

"And Portia's too ... oh I don't know, butter-wouldn't-melt-in-her-mouth for my liking," added O'Gregan. "Even Cassius thought the old charm she put on when he met them at the World Cup all felt a bit ... practiced, I think he said? Like she just dropped into it automatically?"

"Are you sure you men would know the difference?" asked Rhiannon wryly. "She does have an alibi for that night at the Toad, doesn't she?"

"Sort of … hang on," said Tonks, reaching for the reports to refresh her memory. "It says here her parents were going out to yet _another_ formal robes do at, er, the Bletchleys – they're another of those old families Cassius knows – and they were planning to stay overnight. Portia told them she had a bit of a headache and cried off. No-one to confirm it except their house-elf. Who'd probably lie if ordered to, yeah?"

"No _probably_ about it, Tonks," said Cornworthy sadly. "Would _have_ to, if it was a direct order. They keep secrets, it's part of the enchantment. We can almost never get the court to listen to evidence from house-elves, and that's if we can persuade them to talk in the first place. The binding spells are so powerful, even something like Veritaserum isn't usually enough to break them."

"Wow. I didn't realise that." A thought struck her. "Was that why they let Crouch go off with his elf at the World Cup?"

Rhiannon shrugged. "Probably. I'd imagine she was under general orders not to tell anyone _anything_ without old Barty's permission. He's a strict sod. Straight as a die, though. Very fair. If he'd found out anything useful from her he'd have told us."

Tonks frowned to herself. _Strict sod? Yeah, definitely; he was the one who signed the warrant and sent Un … Sirius Black straight to Azkaban without a trial, wasn't he, so we never got the _chance_ to find out anything useful? _Right now, she didn't think that counted as especially fair. She paused, considering._ There have to be records somewhere ..._

"Wasn't that bloke of yours friends with Charlotte Perks?" O'Gregan interrupted this train of thought before it could really build up a head of steam. "Have you asked him about her yet?"

"I shouldn't think so, Don," said Rhiannon, rolling her eyes.

"Why not?"

"Because it doesn't look good if I start an interrogation about his female friends, you prat," said Tonks shortly. "I don't want to give him the wrong idea – and _whichever_ way he takes it, it'll probably be the wrong idea. I don't particularly want him to get the impression that I'm just interested in grilling him about his friends for the sake of the job, either."

"It's only a few questions on a date," said O'Gregan, unrepentant. "No-one's asking you to lie back and think of the Ministry."

"Look, Ches seems like a nice bloke," said Tonks through gritted teeth, "and I don't see any reason to muck things up with him before they get started – before I even have the chance to find out whether I _want_ them to get started. I don't want him to think that ... well, actually I don't know what he'd think, but whatever it is, it's likely to be more of a complication than I need right now, with everything else I've got going on."

"What else _have_ you got going on?" said Rhiannon, with a baffled look.

"Never you mind," said Tonks quickly, inwardly cursing herself for saying it. The last thing she needed was colleagues asking funny questions about any extra-official investigations she might be interested in pursuing.

She was saved from having to answer any by the arrival of Cassius, who seemed both tired and disgruntled, although he cheered up when Rhiannon explained that he had extra help if needed.

"Where were you, anyway?" asked Tonks when the others had left.

"Islington, as a matter of fact. The alarm went off to say that one of those books you bewitched was being taken out of Lore of Yore ..."

"Which one?"

"_Modern Advances in Information Gathering_," he said. "Modern for 1790, anyway, which was when it was published. It sounded innocuous enough to me, but I suppose if you charmed it I should take it that it wasn't?"

Tonks racked her brains for a moment until she remembered the book he was referring to. "Oh, _that_ one. No, not really. It was information gathering by coercion. Might as well have been subtitled _Things To Try If You Don't Want To Get Into Trouble By Actually Casting Cruciatus_. Who bought it?"

"Only our friend Alexander Burke, unfortunately," said Cassius with a sigh. "Who's got his own private collection, and has always been known for it. I stopped by their shop and waited outside for a bit, on the off chance that he might turn up to put it into stock, but he didn't. If it is sold on through there, we'll probably never know."

Tonks shrugged. "Great. Oh well, back to business. Who have we got left to interview?"

"All the people who've been seen talking to Ballantyne down in Brighton. Apparently he was quite a familiar sight in the Magical Market there – probably did dubious deals with half of the shopkeepers – and a lot of people seem to have known him."

"So that's pretty much every wizard or witch in a wide area of the south coast then, by the look of it," said Tonks, glancing at their notes again. "Oh, including your friend Mrs Hallendale," she finished with a sly grin.

"Ah, I see." He looked a little embarrassed. "I'll do that one, shall I?"

Tonks looked at him in curiosity. "Tell you what, Cassius, let's go together. You know, I'd really like to give her a better impression of me than I've made so far. Every time I've seen her I've either put my foot in it –" _both literally and metaphorically_ "– or I've been threatening to arrest her. Sound fair?"

"All right," he said, with what Tonks felt sure was a touch of reluctance. "When do you want to do it?"

She shrugged again. "No time like the present, eh?" She leapt up and made her way down to the foyer, Cassius following resignedly behind her.

-----

As Cassius rang the front-door bell at Angelica Hallendale's house, Tonks hung back out of courtesy, half-hidden by the hanging plants on the porch. After a moment or two, the door opened and the owner greeted him with a smile.

"Cassius!" she said, with what appeared to be genuine pleasure. "Hello again ... oh I see, and Miss Tonks, too?" Her smile slipped slightly too far for politeness, but she managed to hitch her back on her face again within a second. "Do come in then, won't you?"

Tonks followed them into the house and looked around with frank curiosity. Everything seemed thoroughly Muggle as far as she could tell, although as they passed the door to the lounge she caught sight of some sort of large glass object displayed on a table, and which looked as if it might have had some magical assistance. Then again, she supposed it wouldn't be surprising to find a few enchanted items discreetly hidden about the house; there almost always were in the homes of Muggle family members of wizards and witches. Her dad had presented her grandparents with a fair few of them over the years, after all.

"Er, I was just about to make a cup of coffee," said their hostess, seeming slightly flustered. "But I suppose you prefer tea, don't you? It's one thing I still haven't quite got used to even after all this time ..."

"Coffee will be perfectly all right for me," said Cassius hastily. Tonks nodded in agreement.

"Oh, good ..." Angelica said, gazing around distractedly. "What brings you here, then, Cassius? Not just a friendly visit then, I suppose?"

"Official business, I'm afraid, Mrs Hallendale," said Tonks. "We wanted to ask if you were familiar with Sylvester Ballantyne."

"Sylvester?" Her voice was surprisingly sad, and she turned to give Tonks an appraising glance over her shoulder as she made the coffee. "Yes, I knew him. I guess all of the … community in these parts knew him, or at least knew _of_ him. I heard what happened, of course. Poor guy, but I always did get the idea he moved in dangerous circles."

"Would you know who they were Ang … ah, Mrs Hallendale?" asked Cassius quietly.

She handed him a cup with an arch look. "I told you, Cassius, it's _Angelica_. There's no need to be so formal. And no, I don't know who they were. Hank –" she swallowed, then carried on as if there had never been a pause "– might have, but then he never was too fussy who he bought things from. Oh dear, I shouldn't tell you that, should I?"

"Too late to arrest him now," said Tonks cheerfully, before immediately kicking herself very hard mentally at the realisation that this wasn't the most tactful thing she could have said. She too carried on regardless. "We just wanted to know if _anyone_ knew who Ballantyne talked to or did business with. No-one seems to want to say. And I'm sure anything you did wouldn't have been an Auror matter, anyway."

Angelica examined her carefully again. "I'm sure _some_ of the things we did might have been Auror matters, you know," she said with a smile. "But not since we moved here. We were quite the pair when we were young, though."

"What did you do?" asked Tonks with interest.

She smiled reminiscently. "When we left Cuba? Travelled all around that part of the world – magical _and_ Muggle – living off our wits, getting into scrapes, and meeting all sorts of odd people. And having tremendous fun, of course. We even got legally wed … eventually." She glanced at Cassius and bit her lip, an action that couldn't quite conceal her amusement. "Oh dear, I think I've shocked your partner, Miss Tonks. I'm sure he'll consider me a loose woman now."

"Not at all," said Cassius, blushing. "Things were very different for you in those days and that ... in that culture, I'm sure."

"_You_ didn't behave like that when you were a young blade?" she said teasingly.

"Well ..." He had a trapped look, as if hoping for a sudden attack from a rogue dragon that might let him avoid answering the question. When nothing of the sort materialised, he said with great care, "Whatever I say to that risks giving myself a reputation I'm not sure I want, wouldn't you agree? So I think I'm not going to say a word."

"Are you sure?" asked Tonks, grinning. "Hang on, give me your coffee, I think I brought a bottle of Veritaserum with me ..."

"I think perhaps I'll just wipe my memory to be on the safe side," he said with dignity. Both women laughed, although Mrs Hallendale seemed slightly uneasy.

"How did you _cope_ with running away?" asked Tonks. Mrs Hallendale had always piqued her curiosity. "The wizarding world must have been really odd for you, mustn't it?"

"Oh yes, it was. Hank was Muggle-born, of course, so he knew how to fit in easily in both worlds, although I didn't, not at first. But then I was far too innocent and naïve at sixteen even to know what I was doing in the world I grew up in – although that changed pretty quick once I left!" She giggled. "I'm sure we broke those International Secrecy laws on _numerous_ occasions, but somehow in those days that sort of thing just didn't seem to matter much, to us or anyone else."

"Very lax place, the Caribbean," said Cassius, nodding.

"It is?" said Tonks with surprise. "It seemed fairly well-organised when I passed through."

"Ah, but the magical governments out there were always rather weak until about ... oh, twenty years or so ago. I think the war breaking out over here scared them, and finally got them to stop bickering and band together for protection. There's a Caribbean Magical Federation now. In a way, you were lucky to know it in the, uh, wild days, Mrs Hallen ... oh all right, _Angelica_. I remember when I came across Jacmel before – when I was on liaison in America – it was an absolute nightmare trying to get anything from the records of all the little Ministries. They've got things in much better shape now."

"I didn't know all that, Cassius," said Tonks, looking at him with surprise.

"Well, you're here to learn," he said, smiling at her.

"What was that ... thing you mentioned?" asked Angelica in a puzzled tone of voice. "Pacbell? Is that something to do with Sylvester?"

"Liquor of Jacmel," said Cassius with a scowl. "A very nasty little potion from out that way. And _we're_ not doing anything with it, happily. We are however trying to stop someone who _is_, and Mr Ballantyne seemed to know someone who sold it. Unfortunately, it's very possible that person was the one who took exception to the idea that he might tell us about it."

"Oh." There was a catch in her voice. "I hope not ... Poor Sylvester. I remember there were some very strange and dangerous people out there. He ... he never seemed like he would be involved in something as bad as that."

"What _did_ you think he was involved in?" asked Tonks sharply.

Angelica flushed. "He was ... around. You saw him talking to people from time to time. People said he 'knew how to get things'. He'd help out if you wanted odd jobs done. Frankly, they didn't always have to be strictly legal. I never actually _trusted_ him very much, but he had his niche, I guess. I don't suppose many other people trusted him either. I know the Eastons didn't."

"You know them?"

"Of course I know them!" said Angelica, raising her eyebrows at Tonks. "There have only ever been three magical families in the entire area around Worthing in all the time I've lived here. And one of them moved away years ago. _Naturally_ we know each other."

"How come you both know Ballantyne then?"

"Because Brighton is the nearest thing to a local centre," she said wearily. "Wizard's Row isn't much, but it's a place to talk, and buy potion ingredients and things like that. And I'm more accepted there than I would be in Diagon Alley."

"Potion ingredients? What do you want them for?" asked Tonks. She winced a little; she hadn't really meant to fire questions out in such a sharp and accusatory manner. Even Cassius looked slightly embarrassed by it.

"Even Muggles can buy the _ingredients_ for potions, you know, Miss Tonks," replied Angelica, with just a trace of asperity. "My sons don't often brew them, true, but they don't have the leisure to go shopping. And everything's labelled, after all."

Cassius nodded again. "Exactly. I've seen it done many a time. It's only a shopping list, just like the supermarket. Except that they don't sell dragon's liver or Trembleweed extract or fairy eggs in Muggle supermarkets."

Angelica laughed nervously. "Yes, I used to help Hank brew potions occasionally. Chop the ingredients up, hand him the right disgusting thing at the right time so he could concentrate on stirring. Of course I never had the theoretical training he or my sons did, so for me it was always a case of 'follow the recipe carefully'. Just like cooking." She giggled again. "Of course, I never had any training in _that_, either. We had servants to do it all for us. But fortunately – as it turned out when I left – when I got bored with lessons as a child, I used to sneak down to the kitchens to chat to the maids. So I got to know what you were supposed to do with pots and pans."

"Fair enough," said Tonks, smiling. "Didn't help me much, though. I used to watch Mum cook, but I've never been good at anything complicated, I'm dead clumsy. I only got high marks in Potions because I worked so hard on the theory. It's lucky Auror Potions training _is_ mostly theory, otherwise I'd have been done for. I very seldom buy any ingredients now. Come to think of it, how do you get into Wizards' Row anyway? I thought the whole place was shielded with Muggle-Repelling Charms?"

"The people who work there know me by now," replied Angelica coolly. "I knock when I want to be let in. Er, perhaps those charms don't work very well on people who already _know_ there's supposed to be something there?" She snorted. "Wizards do seem very fond of their Muggle-Repelling Charms, don't they? I'm not surprised they don't know how the normal world works. Not to mention very fond of Memory Curses."

"Memory _Charms_," corrected Tonks.

"Not the way _I_ think of them!"

"We don't use them _all_ the time," said Tonks defensively.

"Damned often, though. Ugh. I know they can be useful, but I've _never_ liked them. I remember Hank wanted to use one on my father when we ran away to make him forget he'd been there!" Her laugh was bitter. "Even _I_ would have hexed him for that if I'd known how! I _hate_ the idea of my family losing bits of themselves so casually. You'd need a very good reason to actually _want_ one cast on you, wouldn't you?"

"You don't seem too enamoured with the wizarding world any more, Angelica," put in Cassius in a gentle voice.

She smiled at him rather sadly. "I kind of figure I'm not, Cassius. Not any more. I used to _love_ it while Hank was here, but ... the war burnt it out of me, I suppose. Magic started by being this really wonderful thing in my life, and ended up as something horrible. And although I can't help but be involved – well, because of my sons, you know – I'm still ... disillusioned with it. You might say these days I'm just wishing I could leave it all behind me and go back to my roots. Isn't that silly? They're not even there any more. I've always felt as if I was living some sort of strange double life, I guess, and I get so _tired_ of it sometimes."

Cassius eventually broke the rather strained silence that followed this statement. "You do find some uses for us, though?" he said with a small smile, indicating the coffee cups. "These are Glazer's Self-Cleaning Crockery, aren't they? I recognise the pattern. I have some at home."

Angelica smiled briefly. "Well all right, there are _some_ benefits."

"What do you do all day then?" asked Tonks curiously.

"I garden. I watch films. I _love_ films. I even named my sons after actors. I never had much chance to see them as a kid, and when you're involved in wizard society hardly anybody takes an interest in them. And I read. All those old Golden Age Spanish classics my father and my tutors insisted on – Cervantes, Lope, Calderón – but I'm actually _enjoying_ them this time. And I listen to music, of course. You don't get much music worth listening to in the wizarding world either."

"No kidding," said Tonks, remembering the pub band.

"You'd think that with all the things that can be done to enchant instruments – I've seen some _amazing_ old things like pianos that play themselves, really beautifully made – it would be so much better, wouldn't you?" said Angelica, who had been growing increasingly animated during the conversation. "But there just _aren't_ any magical musicians I like as much as Mozart, or Tchaikovsky, or even … oh I don't know, Elvis Presley!"

"It's a much smaller talent pool, of course," said Cassius, stepping in with haste with a glance at Tonks, apparently to head her off from asking who Elvis Presley was. She glared at him. _I'll have you know my dad's a big fan! The Weird Sisters are better though._ "But you're right, actually. Charms do often substitute for artistic creativity. Maybe it all comes too easy to us? Or perhaps the woman in that bookshop was right –" Angelica looked puzzled for a moment, but didn't interrupt "– we learn so much technical detail by rote, our other senses don't have the chance to develop. My wife felt much the same way, as a matter of fact," he finished bleakly.

It stopped Angelica Hallendale's enthusiastic nodding in mid-nod, and she looked at him with real compassion. "She was obviously a sensible woman," she told him, flashing a sympathetic smile.

"Yes, she was," agreed Cassius. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly. "Well, with the possible exception of agreeing to marry me, of course. That was probably a _very_ foolish thing for her to do, but when she said yes, I certainly wasn't going to talk her out of it."

"I should think not!" Mrs Hallendale looked at him uncomfortably. "You still miss her very badly, I guess, Cassius?"

"Only every hour of every day. Your husband?"

"The same," she answered quietly. "You couldn't help but miss him when he wasn't around. I've never got over losing him – and never will, I guess. I don't think my boys have, either, although you men never say, do you?"

"What was he like?" asked Tonks. She was pleased, and somewhat relieved, that she managed to ask a question tactfully for once.

"Charming. Energetic. Oh, and very handsome, of course." She exchanged knowing glances with Tonks. "Fiercely loyal to me, and his family, and his friends. Probably cut a swathe through the women before he _met_ me, mind you, but once I'd learned enough about men to realise he'd got that out of his system, I decided never to ask. Often terribly irresponsible, but you couldn't help but forgive him."

"I suppose … yeah, it would have been hard not to," said Tonks soberly. She was uncomfortably aware that Hank Hallendale reminded her of a certain cousin who had been on her mind a lot recently – or at least, he reminded her of what she'd _thought_ that cousin had been. Over the previous couple of weeks, her attitude towards him had veered back and forth between one extreme and the other – but forgiveness was still something she couldn't _quite_ yet manage, even while knowing that the possibility was there.

"He always was a bit of a chancer, my Hank," continued Angelica, unaware of Tonks' own memories. "Getting himself all sorts of odd jobs, doing different things he wasn't really qualified to do, always prepared to bluff his way through life. That's how he ended up at my father's house in the first place … Oh dear, I'm telling you Aurors things I shouldn't, aren't I? You probably think he was a terrible man now."

Cassius quickly shook his head. "No, he doesn't sound like the kind of villains Aurors are interested in. I've met enough _really_ bad people, especially Death Eaters during the war, to know what their crimes were like …" He broke off in sudden embarrassment. Tonks stared at them, puzzled, as Angelica tensed up and Cassius looked away. "I'm _sorry_, Angelica. My fault. I know you don't like talking about the war."

"Can you _blame_ me?" she said explosively. "Back then, it was a ... a _nightmare_ for people like us. When we came to England, we decided ... or rather, we thought ..." She swallowed and paused to regain her composure, looking thoroughly annoyed with herself. "Let's just say we didn't realise how _dangerous_ it would be when we happily introduced ourselves to people as a wizard married to a Muggle. It wasn't a problem in the ... well, all right, it _was_ a problem out there, but only a social one, and only for some people. Once we realised what was happening we just tried to keep our heads down, pretend we weren't here, not do anything that would cross them or bring us to their attention. We didn't even dare _leave_."

"Why not?" asked Tonks.

"Because _that_ might have been the thing that brought them after us!" She stopped and swallowed. "They had a reputation for finding you. And we had children by then. And although I don't suppose we were important enough to be a target ... well, Hank still ran into a crossfire, didn't he?" She didn't seem to notice that a tear was trickling down her cheek. "I sometimes wish ... well, I wish that we'd left regardless, taken our chances, just grabbed everything we could and ran for cover, gone back to doing things the way we used to when we were young. But we didn't. We made excuses ... well, I made excuses and Hank went along with them. Money tied down here, kids in school, stupid, _stupid_ reasons like that. I was so scared I couldn't think straight sometimes."

"You had Muggle businesses, did you?" asked Cassius gently.

"Yes. My 'inheritance' – what was left of it. Nothing left in Cuba or even America by then. Hank, poor love, was a wonderful salesman but frankly not really a very good _businessman_. Montgomery built them back up. He must get it from _my_ father." She moved over to the window and looked out. "I'm sorry, Cassius. It's nice talking to you, but the conversation always seems to keep heading onto topics I really don't want to talk about. I'm _sorry_."

Cassius took a step towards her, as if intending to make some comforting gesture, but hesitated. Tonks held back. She hadn't really anticipated the conversation taking this kind of turn, and wasn't especially comfortable now it had done so.

"Don't be sorry, Angelica," she said awkwardly. "We maybe shouldn't be doing this." She looked past her out of the window at the garden, which was beautifully ordered, the lawn in particular giving the impression of having been manicured. "You like to garden, you said – you seem to be pretty keen?" she said brightly, trying to find some neutral topic to break up the mood. "It looks terrific, anyway."

Angelica smiled briefly, wiping the tear from her cheek. "Yes, isn't it? I won a prize for it last year, believe it or not."

"Won a _what?_" said Tonks, surprised.

She smiled more broadly this time. "The letter's in a frame on the mantelpiece in the lounge. Come and take a look. It's not like winning the _Daily Prophet_ Grand Prize Draw, I suppose, but it's nice to be recognised, isn't it?"

They followed her into what appeared to be a perfectly normal Muggle lounge; the only thing that stood out was the elaborate piece of glasswork she'd noticed earlier. There was a small loose rug in front of the table it stood on, in prime position for being tripped over, and as soon as Tonks spotted that she carefully sidled away to the other end of the room. Fortunately, this was where Angelica Hallendale kept the letter in question, so she was able to make it look as if she'd intended to do that all along. She read it with interest. "You have _prizes_ for the 'Best Kept Suburban Lawn'?"

"Oh yes," said Angelica, obviously surprised. "Why? Is it important?"

"Not really, I suppose," said Tonks, thoughtfully, "but every time I see Muggle things I don't know about and should have, I try to read up on them so I don't make a slip in conversation or anything." She turned to Cassius. "Like when I realised I wasn't sure how the postal service worked? You never know if these things might come in handy someday."

"Indeed," said Cassius, who was over by the window inspecting the Suburban Lawn in question more closely. He turned to their hostess with a twinkle in his eye. "You know, that lawn does look _very_ well kept. It wouldn't have had a little ... help, perhaps?"

Angelica looked at him, slightly taken aback, but her own eyes quickly matched the twinkle. "Well ... ah ... all right, perhaps Montgomery may have done the _teensiest_ little charm or two on it. He's very good to me. Did I show you my vase?"

"Oh yes ..." said Cassius, looking puzzled at the apparent change of subject.

"Which vase?" asked Tonks. Angelica Hallendale's jaw dropped in disbelief, and as she realised she added hastily, "Oh, the glass thing? I wondered about that. Is it wizarding?"

"Not exactly ... it's Hamburghalle glasswork," said Angelica with pride. "Now this really _is_ artistic wizardry. I'm told they use some special trade secret charms to work the glass that they never reveal to anyone, but the effect comes mostly from the skill with which they use them." Cassius was nodding in a way which suggested that this information was well known, which rather annoyed Tonks. _What, I'm supposed to be an art connoisseur now?_ Mrs Hallendale smiled at it with fondness. "Very expensive – must have set Montgomery back a fair few Galleons – but it _does_ impress visitors."

"Oh, definitely," said Tonks. She had taken a few steps towards the table to look, but at this information took a precautionary couple of steps back. Unfortunately, this caused her to bump into a sideboard, which jarred a number of photo-frames enough to make them fall over.

"Oh, sorry!" She quickly righted the pictures, then picked them up to look over as a face caught her eye. "This is Monty, isn't it? He looks familiar, and the other one, too, is that Clark, or your husband when he was younger, I'm not sure which of you they take after the most ..." She realised she was babbling with embarrassment, and hastily stopped.

"Those are the men in my life, yes," said Angelica, rolling her eyes. She moved past Tonks and quickly removed the framed photographs from her hands, putting them back on the sideboard and adjusting their positions carefully. She turned and smiled mischievously. "You know, I did get the impression at that campsite that Montgomery _might_ have had the idea he'd like to be the man in your life too? Not that he tells his poor mother about things like _that_, of course."

"Ah, right." Tonks' embarrassment deepened; it wouldn't be a good idea to mention Montgomery's note in front of his mother. Or for that matter, this entire conversation in front of Rhiannon Davies. "Well, er, I do have a sort of boyfriend at the moment, I'm sorry to say – er, I don't mean I'm sorry about _that_, I mean I'm sorry that if Monty's thinking like that, it wouldn't be fair for me to, er would it?" _Brilliant. Clear as a vat of Polyjuice Potion. Get a _grip_, girl._

"Only _sort_ of?" said Angelica, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

"Well, early days yet? He's a nice enough bloke."

Angelica turned to Cassius with an expression of mock despair. "'_A nice enough bloke_,' she says. Not 'a dashing young hero come to carry me away on his white charger', which is what the girls wished for in my day. Hardly a ringing declaration of true love, is it?"

"That's what the young women wanted in _my_ day too," said Cassius with a grin. "Or at least, that's what they told me. They might just have wanted to see me make a fool of myself, of course."

"I'm not exactly _looking_ for a young hero," said Tonks with a rather fixed smile. She knew she was having fun gently poked at her, but it was hard not to bite. "Especially one who wants to carry me away on a white charger. I don't know that I'm looking for _anything_ in particular. I imagine I'll just know it if and when I see it."

"Ooh, think of the possibilities!" cried Angelica teasingly, wringing her hands in a dramatic manner. Cassius was clearly fighting a desperate – and barely winning – battle not to laugh. "Perhaps if it's not a young hero it'll be a ... curse breaker perhaps, or a dragon tamer, or a _werewolf_ ..."

"Or perhaps it won't, since I don't know any of the above and can't see why you should insist on pairing me off with them?" said Tonks tetchily. She shook herself; after all, she'd taken the mickey out of others often enough, so couldn't really complain at getting the same treatment. "Are we finished here, Cassius?"

He suppressed a final smile and nodded. "I think so. We'd better be going, Angelica. You're sure you can't think of anything about Sylvester Ballantyne that would help us?"

"I'm afraid not, Cassius. I didn't really know him except as someone in the background. Sorry I couldn't make your trip worthwhile."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. These last few minutes have certainly been rather entertaining." They exchanged grins; even Tonks managed to smile rather sheepishly. "You'll let us know if you hear anything useful?"

"Of course."

"Right then. Um, yes. Bye."

-----

Tonks tactfully waited until they were back at the office before asking the obvious question.

"Cassius?"

"Mm?" He was scribbling a report on a piece of parchment; Tonks wasn't quite sure why he rarely used an auto-dictation quill, but perhaps they were a little too modern.

"How many times exactly have you _been_ to visit chez Hallendale?"

"What?" He looked up, startled. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I know you went round to warn her not to discuss our movements after Bobby Easton said his piece, but I got the impression today that it wasn't the only time you'd called there …"

He blushed a little. "Oh. Well, no, it wasn't. I've dropped by another couple of times, just in passing, you know."

"Worthing? In _passing_?"

He shrugged. "When you're Apparating, it doesn't make any difference, does it? One place is as close as another. Anyway, does it matter?"

"I just wondered why? She's not _that_ important to any of our cases, is she?"

"No, but I just ..." He looked at her in exasperation. "Oh you _know_ why I went, Tonks. I find it interesting to talk to her. Her personality. Experiences I can relate to. It's pure loneliness on both our parts, I suppose."

"Oh." Tonks felt a little guilty. "We're rather neglecting you again, aren't we?" she said quietly.

"Don't be silly, Tonks. You've all got your own lives to lead. You shouldn't be worrying about an old codger like me ..."

"Don't be daft," she said, cutting him off before he could hit his stride. She hesitated, because what she wanted to say next was going to be awkward however she tried to phrase it. "We're all rather fond of you, you know? Even Don, when he isn't in a world of his own. You're still one of the gang – I suppose maybe we haven't been sure whether you _wanted_ to be, now you're in charge of the case and everything. You seemed to be enjoying that, and we were all quite happy to go along because it was working well ... oh sod it, I'm not making any sense, am I?"

"You're making sense enough." He had a rueful look, but he was smiling. "Work's work, Tonks. It's _good_ to be running an investigation again, I won't deny that. But it's nice to do something _away_ from work occasionally. That's why I called round there. A lonely old man's weakness, I suppose."

Tonks cuffed him lightly. "Hey, you're entitled. Don't mind me. I'm just the poor novice who keeps putting her foot in it. Literally." She gazed at him thoughtfully. "You know, we should make some time for another evening out at the pub? We don't have to bring along the others if you don't want to. You can tell me some more of those scurrilous stories about the people in the department, and I can try to remember them this time in case I ever need good blackmail material!"

Cassius actually laughed out loud at this. "You're sure your young man won't get jealous?"

"He's just ..." Tonks began before she realised that Cassius was teasing her again. "Oh shut up. I'll take the chance, OK?"

-----

_Friday 18__th__ September 1994_

Over the next week, Tonks attempted to keep an unobtrusive eye on Cassius and bring him into conversations wherever possible, although she suspected from the occasional small smile on his face whenever she did this that he had a pretty good idea of what she was up to.

She even got together a number of Aurors for an after-work social at the Leaky Cauldron one Thursday evening, and insisted that he join them, which he did with only a token show of protest. Although Donnacha and Rhiannon pleaded a prior engagement at an expensive restaurant, Cornworthy was more than happy to come along ("gets me out from under my wife's feet for a while," he explained), as was Williamson (never one to turn down an evening at the pub if he could help it). After a few rounds, they even persuaded Cassius to tell them some tales of Ministries past – including a number of anecdotes about Fudge's Senior Undersecretary that literally made Tonks' hair stand on end (she returned it to normal as soon as she realised that she'd been unconsciously doing this as commentary).

By the following afternoon, she was feeling rather pleased with herself for organising the evening out as she skimmed through a report from K's office on the testing of a pre-production version of Archibald Blackstock's latest invention (a wand holder with an Invisibility Spell for use in Muggle areas, a sample of which had been obtained through back channels). When her mirror phone rang she reached for it absently. To her surprise, it was O'Gregan on the other end; who as far as she knew was still doggedly trailing Blackstock's daughter.

"How was the dinner?" she asked jokingly.

"Fine, fine," he said hurriedly. "Look, Tonks, will you do me a favour? I'm in the Magical Market in Birmingham and I need a bit of help quickly, so I do. Can you come up here kitted out as Mabel?"

"Who's ... oh, you mean 'Mavis'?"

"Yeah, whoever. Your anonymous look. Can you do that?"

She glanced around. There was nothing requiring her immediate attention as far as she could see. "Oh, all right then. Expect me there in about ten minutes, OK?"

Tonks concentrated hard for a moment, changing her face and figure into her Mrs Anonymous appearance, then worked on her robes for a couple of minutes, Transfiguring them into a less modern style and adding a charm or two for good measure to make them seem dowdier. She then quickly made her way down to the Ministry foyer – a little too quickly as it happened, as she managed to nearly knock someone over when she came out of the lift.

She glanced up to see who it was and groaned inwardly as she recognised Barty Crouch again. It took her a moment to remember that at least he wouldn't be able to recognise _her_ this time. In fact, he barely paid her any attention at all, and pushed past into the lift with an odd expression on his face that she couldn't quite place; it seemed to be a sort of strained blankness, if that was possible.

Shrugging her shoulders at this – _none of my business, I suppose_ – she went out into the main Atrium, Apparated into the middle of the Market, and looked around. O'Gregan was nowhere to be seen.

_Oh yeah, Invisibility Cloak. Great._ She glanced into a few shop windows with some irritation, just in case he might be inside (and visible), then jumped slightly at she felt a tap on the shoulder from someone who apparently wasn't there.

"Don!" she hissed. "Do you have to wear that thing?"

"Sorry," he muttered quietly. "Come over here." He pulled very gently on the sleeve of her robes, leading her over to a small gap between two shops out of sight of the crowds, then slipped off the Cloak he'd been wearing.

"Right, Don," she said with resignation. "Let me guess. This is to do with Portia Blackstock again, is it? What am I supposed to do, follow her into the Ladies or something?"

"No, no," he said, looking slightly embarrassed. "But young Portia went into that beauty shop thing again. I need someone to go in and listen in on the conversation. I thought you girls told things to your hairdressers and all?"

Tonks sighed. "Haven't you given up on this yet?"

"No!"

"Oh all _right_. Why didn't you just call for Rhiannon? I thought she usually humoured you on this, and as far as I know she hasn't got anything on right now."

O'Gregan blanched. "I could _not_ send my sweet girl into that place all alone. It would be far too dangerous."

"_What_?" spluttered Tonks. "Why? You don't seem to mind _me_ going in there!"

"Sorry, but ..."

"What's _in_ there anyway? A rampaging manticore or something?"

"Worse ..."

"_Worse?_"

"Far worse. It's my wife."


	18. Sources of Information

**Author's note:** My apologies for the delay in between chapters -- I'll be posting the rest of the story now to get it finished before _Deathly Hallows_ comes out!

**17. Sources of Information**

_Friday 18__th__ September 1994_

Tonks looked through the window of the beauty salon with a slight ripple of apprehension. It was merely one of the small 'shops' the Market rented out – a front room for business, and a tiny back room for accounts and other things customers didn't need to see. Nonetheless, it appeared almost obsessively well-kept. Shelves high on the walls contained orderly rows of cosmetic potions in bottles and jars, and underneath them were perfectly-spaced photographs of beautiful witches holding out their hands and turning their heads to show off elegant manicures and hairstyles to best advantage. Tonks smiled in amusement at a dummy in the corner which changed shape and hairstyle every ten seconds or so, providing a three-dimensional view of what the owner could do. A neatly lettered sign over the door read '_Miss Marcella Mascarra, Specialist in Beautifying Charms and Personal Styling_'.

Tonks frowned; as far as she was concerned, it was all a bit over the top, and she was a little worried how the owner might react to her shoes bringing in dirt from the floor of the Magical Market. But she could see why it might attract clients such as Portia Blackstock and Norah O'Gregan. Although the latter's husband wasn't actually visible, Tonks could imagine him tapping his foot with impatience under the Cloak, and quickly pushed open the door.

There were only three other people there. The sole occupant of a row of four chairs on one side was Portia Blackstock, leafing through an old copy of _Witch Weekly_ with a look of polite boredom. Opposite her was a single chair in front of a large mirror; a youngish woman (presumably Miss Mascarra) was gently applying some sort of thick, creamy potion to the cheeks of its occupant. That had to be Norah O'Gregan; she was quite good-looking, but with hard eyes, and an expression of slight disdain that didn't endear her to Tonks. She was obscurely reminded of her aunt.

All three turned to glance at her as she entered, and a slightly troubled expression passed over Miss Mascarra's face as she noticed the marks Tonks' footwear had made. The proprietor was carefully made-up, with her own hair in an elaborate arrangement that seemed to consist of layers of small tubes, but otherwise looked rather washed-out. She smiled vaguely. "Hello, can I help you?"

"Oh yes ... Yes." Tonks felt rather glad she'd spent so much time with Beatrice Easton; borrowing her mannerisms made it much easier to slip into her Mavis role. "I hope I don't need an appointment ... I've heard of your shop and I wondered if you could do something for me ..."

The beautician appraised her. "Yes, I think I can, Miss, er Mrs, ..."

"Oh, Grimble. Mrs Mavis Grimble."

She nodded, frowned, and waved her wand at the floor to remove the footmarks, apparently without realising she was doing it. "That's fine, Mrs Grimble. You don't mind waiting, I hope? I have to finish Mrs O'Gregan here, and Miss Blackstock is next. Um, perhaps you could talk to each other for a bit ..."

_What an excellent idea ..._ "Oh no, I don't mind waiting. There's nothing much I have to do," she added in a plaintive voice. "I'll just sit here, that's fine."

Tonks took a seat next to Portia Blackstock, who gave her a bright if not entirely sincere smile that suggested relief at the idea of chatting instead of reading. Tonks smiled back cautiously. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Miss Mascarra apply a wipe to her customer's face, then casually drop it. Tonks blinked in surprise – the action didn't seem to match the cleanliness of the place – but the wipe barely had time to reach the ground before a dustpan and brush popped out from under the chair and sprang into action; the dustpan quickly sweeping the wipe away into one of a row of little bins that opened to receive it, the brush carefully removing any traces from the floor. Neither of the other customers paid the least attention to this bizarre activity, so Tonks assumed they must be used to it.

"Isn't this place wonderful?" said Portia, bringing Tonks' attention back with a snap. "How did you find it? Did someone tell you about it?"

"Oh ... I heard about it somewhere, yes," said Tonks cautiously. She hadn't, but to judge from the financial status of its current clientele it must have a solid reputation. "I, er, got the impression she was very good?"

"Oh she is, I wouldn't go anywhere else, you know," gushed Portia. "She's amazing. I mean, she does _all_ her own preparations, won't use those tacky commercial products. Will you, Marcella?

Miss Mascarra turned and smiled at her rather tiredly, but with a hint of pride. "Indeed not, my dear. _Highly_ overpriced, a lot of them. You know, I did once dream about marketing my own range of hair-care potions? Things just never worked out that way. Maybe one day if I get a bit of money."

This drew a loud laugh from the occupant of the chair in front of her. "Oh, you'd definitely need more than a _bit_ of money for that, Marcella," snorted Norah O'Gregan. "Unfortunately, a few people like us who know better aren't going to help you outsell Mr Sleekeasy, love. Not with his advertising budget. A couple of dozen sacks of Galleons go a long way in this world, if you've got them. Even that pretty-boy never got round to it, whatever nonsense he told _Witch Weekly_." She scowled at the thought. "Still, there could be a gap in the market; _he_ won't be a competitor, will he? Good riddance to him, and all the pretty-boys like him."

"What's wrong with pretty-boys?" asked Portia with a puzzled look.

Norah O'Gregan shook her head as hard as she could manage without disturbing the preparations on her face. "Never trust them, dear," she said harshly. "I learnt that the hard way. Anyway, why would _you_ care?" She turned her chair carefully in order to look at Tonks with a kind of resigned amusement. "What about you, dear? Who are you brightening yourself up for?"

"Oh, er, my husband," said Tonks. She hadn't actually invented a name and history for the supposed Mr Grimble, and steeled herself to borrow more of Beatrice Easton's life story if necessary. Her eyes flicked to her left hand with a brief jolt of panic; to her relief, she _had_ remembered to conjure a wedding ring.

Mrs O'Gregan apparently took that as concern. "Pretty boy?" she said shrewdly. "Or was once?"

"I think so," said Tonks primly.

She snorted again. "More fool you, dear." She spun the chair back round to face the mirror, which was murmuring ingratiating comments and showing an ever-so-slightly idealised version of the woman in front of it.

Tonks turned back to Portia; now she was actually face-to-face with the girl, she was uncertain how best to bring the conversation round to topics of interest without attracting suspicion. She watched idly as the beautician worked on Mrs O'Gregan's hair, curling it around her wand, making deft little trims with gentle Severing Charms (the dustpan and brush springing promptly into action each time), and gradually teasing it into an elaborate style that Tonks suddenly recognised as the one that Portia had worn at the Transfigured Toad.

"That's an interesting style," she said cautiously. "Is it very popular?"

Miss Mascarra shook her head absently. "Oh no. Normally I only do it for Miss Blackstock, but Mrs O'Gregan here saw it last time she was in and asked for it ..."

"Of course I did," said her customer. "It certainly impressed _me_, I don't see why it wouldn't impress other people. You were being done up for some party, weren't you?" she said, trying to catch Portia's eye in the mirror. "Did you get anybody's attention with it in the end?"

"Oh yes I ... oh, er, I mean no, you know, now I think about it, that night I couldn't go, as it happened. I felt a bit ill really so I had to stay in ... It was a pity to waste all that preparation, but ..."

"That's a shame," put in Mascarra vaguely. "The Bletchleys throw very good parties, so I've heard."

Norah O'Gregan spun half-round in her seat to stare at Portia. "The _Bletchleys_? You mean _you_ were going to go to the Bletchleys' party?" Mascarra made a sort of _tsk_ sound and turned the chair back firmly so that it faced the mirror again.

Portia looked at her with surprise. "Yes, Mummy and Daddy know them."

"But you _didn't_ go? I don't remember ever seeing you there."

"Er ... no, no I didn't, like I told you," she said uncertainly. "It was just that one time, really, you know. Why do you ask ...?"

Mrs O'Gregan relaxed back into her seat, but still looked at Portia suspiciously via the mirror. "They're who I want this for. I'm accompanying Francis Bletchley to their chamber music soiree tomorrow night. _Big_ event, even the Chief Warlock said he might like to come along if he has the time. I _really_ wouldn't want them all to have seen this before. It is exclusive to you, Marcella?"

"Oh yes, don't worry."

_Not when I'm taking mental notes, it isn't,_ thought Tonks wryly. Now she had the opportunity to see the style actually being constructed in front of her, she reckoned she might be able to use it for the Ministry Hallowe'en Ball.

"Good," said Norah, oblivious to this. "I wanted you to do my hair for that one too, but I couldn't get hold of you. There was a note on the door, said you were off gallivanting somewhere?"

"I wasn't _gallivanting_," said Miss Mascarra with dignity. "I had a private client that evening, Mrs O'Gregan. She wanted the full preparation for that party without anyone seeing it in advance. You must realise, this is only a small business. I can't afford to turn down bookings when I get them just in case someone comes to the shop."

Norah O'Gregan snorted. "You should charge more dear, get yourself bigger premises. But no, I suppose you probably weren't gallivanting, were you? Don't tell me you've split up with your young man again, whoever the latest one is?"

"No, we're ... taking a little break from seeing each other at the moment," she said uncomfortably.

Norah looked disbelieving. "Oh, I _see_. You do seem to pick losers, don't you? Learn from me, dear. With your talents you should know how to _get_ someone with money, and keep them." Marcella Mascarra said nothing, but Tonks was sure she noticed a very brief look of real dislike pass over her face when her customer looked away.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Marcella," said Portia, in a rather more sympathetic voice, and the beautician smiled kindly at her.

The older woman snorted again. "Better off without him, I'd say. Still, if you looked like _her_ you'd be able to get them where you wanted them, eh? Good job for all of us she doesn't make use of it." Both women stiffened slightly at this, and Tonks couldn't help catching the eye of Mrs O'Gregan in the mirror, who noticed and gave her an ironic look. "Aren't I right … Mavis, was it?"

"Oh, yes, I suppose you are," said Tonks, slightly flustered. _You don't know what _I_ know about Portia making use of it, Norah. I _have_ to get the conversation onto that somehow ..._

"I'm sure there are more interesting things to discuss than my private life. Mrs O'Gregan," said Miss Mascarra firmly. She maintained an even tone, but Tonks was sure she saw her lips purse and her hand twitch slightly as she worked, as if resisting a strong urge to use a Shearing Hex on the woman in the chair. It gave Tonks her cue though.

"Yes, did you read in the paper about that woman who tried to _poison her uncle_?" she said in a shocked voice. The _Prophet_'s editors had been grateful for the arrest as scandalous relief from the political stories of a slow news day, so there was a sporting chance that the people in the shop had seen it. She began improvising rapidly. "Really horrible poison, too, by all accounts. I actually _know_ the poor man – he sells magical creatures and I work in the regulation department."

Portia lost her smile immediately. "I ... read about it, yes. It sounded rather horrible."

"Is that the one who worked at that charity your parents get you helping with?" asked Norah with a sharpening of interest. "Did you know her?"

"A bit," she admitted unhappily. "I'm sure there must have been a mistake. We ... used to work together, she wasn't that sort, you know?"

"You mean you actually _work_ at that place, dear? I thought you just hung around and looked decorative."

Portia's lip trembled slightly. "I _do_ do my share, Mrs O'Gregan. There isn't always a lot that needs doing ..."

"Ooh, it must have been _very_ frightening for you to work with someone who might be a murderess," interrupted Tonks, trying to convey both conventional horror and suitably ghoulish excitement. "_What_ a coincidence that we should meet! What was she like?" Norah O'Gregan had half-turned her head to hear the reply, and even Miss Mascarra had clearly been trying to listen to the gossip. Tonks decided she wouldn't mind at all if this caused her to ruin Norah's hair, and she was sure Donnacha and Rhiannon would be ecstatic.

"She ... well, like I said, you know, I mean …" said Portia, stumbling over her words. "I don't know her _well_, but she seemed nice enough," she finished lamely.

"Sent poisoned choccies from the post office tent at the World Cup, didn't she?" mused Norah O'Gregan. "I suppose either of us might have actually _seen_ her send them, if we'd known. You must have been there, dear, I take it?"

"Oh yes," said Tonks, quickly covering herself by adding, "Oh sorry, did you mean, um, Portia?"

"I don't think I went to the post office tent, you know," said Portia, in a rather huffy voice. "We were only there for the match ..."

"Francis wanted to 'sample the atmosphere', so I spent a day or two there with him," said Norah smugly. "Can't say that I mind the attention."

"Is he the tall thin one with the little moustache?" said Portia curiously. At a nod from the other woman, she said, in shocked tones, "Isn't he a bit ... well, _old_ for you, you know?"

She shrugged. "Well, he's only fifty-three. It's not like we're Muggles, is it?"

"Oh. Is he nice?"

She laughed. "He's rich. And he's from my class. And he's easy to manipulate when he's trying to impress me. And _yes_, he's decent enough. That'll do me."

"But ... don't you already have a husband?" asked Portia, sounding confused. "Don't you have to do something about him first?" Tonks bit back her annoyance at Norah for diverting the conversation away from Portia, as with any luck she might say something useful.

This time Norah O'Gregan snorted so loudly that the other three women actually jumped. "_Him_? Oh, I'm not worried about _him_. Got _him_ right where I want him. No, let him stew in his own cauldron and see how long that little doe-eyed _colleague_ he likes so much manages to put up with him. I'm in no hurry, no hurry _at all_. I don't intend to make things easy for _him_ before I'm good and ready and have Francis right where I want him too. Oh, are we done now?"

Miss Mascarra nodded; Norah turned her head from side to side assessingly. "Nice. Good job, Marcella. How long will it last?"

"A couple of days, Mrs O'Gregan. It's enchanted, of course, so if you catch it on something or go out in a high wind it'll keep its shape. Would you like me to put an _Impervius_ charm on it as well, in case it rains?"

"Yes, you'd better. Don't want to take any chances." As the beautician waved her wand to perform the charm, Portia caught Tonks' eye and exchanged a tremulous smile with her. Norah O'Gregan paid for her beauty treatment and added what looked like a fairly generous tip, although Tonks couldn't help thinking it would have seemed more impressive without her supercilious air. As she left, Tonks noticed Miss Mascarra give her a look that couldn't quite seem to decide between admiration and distaste, then give herself a tiny shake and turn back to Portia with a bright smile.

"What was it today, Miss Blackstock? A special occasion?"

"Oh no, Marcella, just make me look nice, you know, cheer me up a bit?" she said, taking a seat in front of the mirror, which immediately went into quiet raptures over her appearance. "And that special cream you use, you know, makes your skin smooth?"

"Of course, my dear, though I'm not sure _you_ need anything special to look nice." The mirror concurred enthusiastically.

Tonks watched with interest as Mascarra started to apply the preparation she'd been using when she came in. "Don't you worry about people stealing your recipes and styling charms?" she asked curiously.

Miss Mascarra smiled. "No, no, Mrs ... Gribble? I write all the ingredients down in code, and I don't tell _anyone_ what combinations of charms I use for styling. Money can be tight in this business sometimes, so you can't be too careful, can you?"

"Ah, I see. Oh yes, yes, that's a good idea." Tonks blushed guiltily; she was, after all, planning to copy one of her creations. _But I'm not planning on making money out of it_, she informed her conscience sternly. She shook herself and returned to business; _keep them talking, about anything at all, they might let something interesting slip_, as the training manuals said. "So, Miss ... oh, sorry, Portia ... did you enjoy the World Cup then?"

"Ooh yes! Daddy got us some really nice tickets, you know? It was a pity Bulgaria lost, though. I think Ivanova's _wonderful_, she's my heroine, but she could only get through the once, you know?"

_Yes, oddly enough I do know._ "Were you not there long, then?" she probed. "I thought everybody had tents in case the match went on for a few days ..." She let herself trail off.

"Oh, we had this really nice tent, quite small, only four bedrooms, you know? We never got to sleep in it properly because of those madmen ..." She shuddered, and Tonks couldn't help but sympathise. "It was really scary, wasn't it? You went with your boyfriend, Marcella, didn't you?"

Miss Mascarra also shuddered slightly. "Not me, dear. He wanted me to, but I didn't fancy the idea of camping out in all that _mud_."

Tonks fought to control an urge to snicker. "What did your parents do when it started, Portia?" she tried. "Did you all Apparate? I couldn't, I was terrified."

Portia shook her head vigorously, which earned her a weary frown from the woman trying to apply potion to her face. "No – they can, of course, but I've never learned either. Oh, I really _really_ wished I could. It was lucky we were so near the trees. Daddy insisted Mummy get herself away from there, then he got his wand out and led me into the forest. I was really scared."

Tonks bit her lip firmly. "I'm not surprised," she said solicitously. "I thought some of the Magical Creatures we deal with in the Department were scary, but _that_ ... I mean, I'm not sure I'd know how to cope if I found myself among a lot of ruffians, even if it was just ... oh, a party in a rough pub on a Saturday night or something. Would you?"

Tonks watched Portia carefully while she said this and saw her eyes widen in shock at the suggestion. "Oh, _no_! I mean, I'd _never_ be somewhere like that if I could help it! I never even dared to go in the Hog's Head when I was at school, you know ..."

"I think it's done, Miss Blackstock," interrupted the beautician. She flicked her wand a couple of times to set the hair. As Portia preened in front of the mirror and giggled at its compliments, she added, "Would you like to sit down, Mrs Grindel, er no ..."

"Grimble. Oh yes, thank you." She briefly reviewed her options as Portia paid her bill; she didn't seem to have much choice but to go through with it now. O'Gregan would have to pick up Portia's trail again. Tonks glanced outside, and smiled as she noticed a passer-by turn sharply and look around in confusion, in the manner of a man bumped into by someone invisible.

"How would you like me to do your hair, dear?" asked Miss Mascarra, in a tone that teetered on the brink of disapproval, as she inspected the 'Mavis style'. Even the mirror seemed to be struggling to find something flattering to say about it. "It _is_ a bit long and ... well, I don't think you really make the best use of it, to be honest."

_In for a Knut, in for a Galleon ..._ "Can you do me the same one that O'Gregan woman had?"

"Well … yes, I suppose so," she said, surprised. "Do you want a full facial?"

"Er, no, just the hair." _No point in going over the top with the budget, I just want to make sure I've got it right. _Tonks grinned to herself. Sometimes it really was very cool to be a Metamorphmagus.

"Very well, Mrs Grimble," she said with slight disappointment. "Just settle yourself comfortably."

"OK," said Tonks, adjusting her position. "Oh! Sorry!" Her elbow caught a bottle on the table next to her, and it dropped to the floor and shattered. The dustpan and brush had swept away the fragments before Tonks even had time to properly apologise.

"Never mind, dear," said Miss Mascarra, through what Tonks felt sure must be gritted teeth. "It's only a cleansing solution. _Scourgify_."

-----

_Saturday 19__th__ September 1994_

By the time Tonks met Chesney in the pub the following evening she'd returned her hair to its natural style, albeit in her favourite bright pink. He was already seated in the corner when she arrived, scowling at a story in the _Daily Prophet_.

"Anything interesting?" she said brightly after greeting him. "Haven't had a chance to even skim the headlines today."

"Load of dragon dung if you ask me," he said, shrugging. "The International Confederation have finally agreed a communiqué from the Stockholm conference, and half of it's about the World Cup riots. They're all livid at us. I mean, come on, what were we supposed to _do_ about it? Well, you know, you were there."

"Yeah. I'm almost starting to wish I _hadn't_ been now. Of course, we wouldn't have met then, so it wasn't all bad," she added hastily, realising how that might have sounded. "What do the _Prophet_ have to say?"

He scowled. "Usual meaningless waffle in the editorial, but that staff writer's having a go again in an opinion piece. Hang on –" he turned the page and began to read in a high-pitched, sanctimonious voice "– '_it is hardly surprising that Britain has been made to look foolish in front of the entire wizarding world. We have a Ministry led by buffoons so incompetent they cannot even keep track of their own staff, and of course the obsolete dingbat supposedly representing us as Confederation Chairman is unwilling to lift a finger to bring his influence to bear and blunt its criticism of our country_'. Yeah, right. I didn't see _her_ sticking her neck out to help that night."

"Cow," said Tonks absently. Entertaining though it was to complain about obnoxious reporters and unreasonable foreigners, what she _really_ wanted to ask him about was Charlotte Perks. She simply wasn't sure exactly how to bring her into a conversation with a boyfriend.

"Er, Tonks ... can I ask you a favour?" he said nervously, interrupting her musings.

"Sure, Ches," she said. "What is it?"

"Well you know Charlie – that old friend of mine we met at the World Cup?"

Tonks blinked. _Perfect timing again Ches, I could kiss you for that. In fact, come to think of it, I fully intend to before this evening's out._ "Er, yes, what about her?" she said carefully.

"Nothing, I hope," said Chesney hastily, "it's just ... I heard she was in some sort of trouble, and I wondered if you knew anything about it through the job. Say if I'm out of order here ..."

She hesitated. "Well ... yes, I know about it. I suppose you saw it in the paper?"

"It's been in the _paper?_" He grinned rather shamefacedly. "Normally, I just glance at the headlines then skip to the back page for the Quidditch news ... I must have missed it."

Tonks nodded. "Yeah, you probably did. It wasn't that far in, but the first couple of pages were all that Umbridge bint's latest merpeople-tagging campaign."

"What for?" he said, momentarily distracted. "I've never even _seen_ one." He grinned suddenly. "That reminds me, did you hear that one about the troll ..."

"...the hag and the leprechaun who all go into a bar? Yeah, about a dozen times. It's been doing the rounds all summer. Anyway, about your friend Charlotte ..." Tonks hesitated, but realised she was going to have to grasp the Devil's Snare and tell him. "Well, actually, she's been arrested on suspicion of attempted murder."

"_What_?" he yelped.

Tonks outlined the circumstances as briefly as she could, making sure to emphasise that they _had_ found incriminating evidence. When she finished, Chesney stared at her speechlessly. "So what do you reckon?" she said eventually.

"_Charlie?_" he spluttered. "A _murderess_? You can't be serious, Tonks. _What_ incriminating evidence?"

Tonks quickly assessed how much was public knowledge; fortunately, the _Daily Prophet_ wasn't a paper that skimped on sensational details unless leaned on. "Ingredients and method for the poison that was used, tucked away in a hidden compartment under her kitchen floor. Which is a bit suspicious in itself, really."

"No it's not," he argued. "I've got one too, to keep stuff out of sight if a Muggle happens to call. You can't tell me _you _haven't got anything hidden away that you're not supposed to have?"

Tonks remembered the papers Kingsley had given her and scowled. "Not instructions for how to make a rare poison that happens to have been _used on my uncle_, I haven't," she said tartly. She took a calming breath. "You don't think this sounds like her then?"

"No! For a start, if I know Charlie, she wouldn't actually be _able_ to kill anyone, however much she shoots her mouth off about –" he shuddered slightly "– Death Eaters and the like." He drew a calming breath of his own. "All right, Tonks, I'll admit, I don't see her all that often these days. She might have completely changed, though I don't believe that. But even supposing she had, no way would she be stupid enough to leave damning evidence just lying around her kitchen!"

"People _do_," pointed out Tonks. "That was one of the things they drummed into us. 'Never assume they'll be too smart to make mistakes – check anyway.' People get overconfident, they forget, they panic, sometimes they just don't _think_ of something completely obvious."

"Not _that_ obvious. Not someone as smart as Charlie. It's practically a signed confession! Someone must have stitched her up ..." He bit off the comment.

"It _wasn't_ that obvious," said Tonks, uneasy at the implication that the Aurors might have done it. "It was a very cleverly charmed hiding place, and Do – the Aurors who arrested her had to find it for themselves. She refused to tell them about it. Well, she didn't have much option, did she?"

"Yes, but ..." He hesitated. "Look, ever since I've known her, Charlie's been absolutely determined not to take crap from anybody official. I think she got messed around by Ministry bureaucrats so much after her parents were killed that you ... er, they rub her the wrong way. She always used to stick her neck out at school, even with the nastier teachers. If your lot came round laying down the law without a good reason, she wouldn't tell them one damn thing. I'll bet she's refusing to say anything at all, isn't she?"

"Yes," replied Tonks unwillingly.

"I'm not surprised. She always was the sort to hex off her nose to spite her face in this kind of thing. Rather than talk to your boys, she'd sit in a cell and brood …" A horrified look suddenly appeared on his face. "Oh bloody hell, you haven't sent her out to ... to ..."

"Azkaban? Had to, but not the really heavily-patrolled part," said Tonks quickly, although he didn't seem particularly reassured. "Only till the bureaucracy stop faffing about and w ... er, the Auror Office gets the Veritaserum warrant."

"_Veritaserum?_" he almost yelled. "Oh Tonks. She won't like _that_."

She shrugged. "I don't blame her, nobody does, but ... that's just tough, isn't it? At least holding her there gives her the chance to _think_ about it." _And time for any countermeasures to wear off_, she realised suddenly. _After all, she's apparently been making a number of strange brews, why not Deception Draught?_ Cassius' relative unconcern about waiting for the warrant suddenly made a lot more sense. She tried to make her voice sympathetic despite her embarrassment while she asked the key question. "Are you sure you _really_ know her, Ches? I mean, do you know who her other friends are, or what she does, or who she's seeing romantically, if anybody?"

"Well, I suppose I _don't_ know who she's with nowadays ..." he said hesitantly, looking uncomfortable and rather crestfallen. "I haven't heard she had anyone _special_, anyway – not that if she had she'd tell me or that cousin Mickey, we'd both probably tease her. Although, well, let's say … um, I'm not even quite sure any more what her type would be. Wasn't me, anyway."

"Oh good," said Tonks with a wink, deciding to let the subject drop before it resulted in a full-blown row. "I wouldn't want the competition ..."

The remainder of the evening followed her intentions fairly closely and pleasantly.

-----

_Tuesday 22__nd__ September 1994_

It wasn't until the following Tuesday that the team were all in the office at the same time and Tonks had the opportunity to discuss her hairstyling experiences. O'Gregan and Cornworthy listened with interest, having taken a break from dogging Portia's footsteps (she was apparently sitting at home like a good little girl).

"So she's not chuffed at the moment, knows Charlotte but seemed uncomfortable with saying so, denied being in the post office tent, claims she didn't go to the party the night Farley's drink got spiked but can't prove it, and seemed quite alarmed when you hinted she might have been there," summed up the Irishman. "Don't like the sound of that, but not much new. Oh, and she likes _Ivanova_ and wanted to see her score more goals, now, rather than someone sensible like Troy or Moran. Bah." The others carefully kept straight faces at this rather biased view.

"What did Nasty Norah have to say?" asked Rhiannon, attempting to sound unconcerned, and not quite succeeding. O'Gregan glanced up with a shifty look. "Anything interesting?"

"A bit," said Tonks, nodding at them both, "I'll tell you later."

"You say that with an evil nod," said O'Gregan suspiciously.

Tonks grinned. "Well, you know how we girls gossip at the hairdressers, eh? _Lots_ of juicy details." She was fairly sure from the look on Rhiannon's face that she'd caught the idea and wasn't taking this seriously, but O'Gregan looked delightfully aghast. She relented slightly. "Although she _did_ mention that she has a bloke taking an interest in her. Didn't sound like she was in any rush to let you off the hook with the hexes though."

"You _told_ her?" O'Gregan asked his girlfriend with a mortified look.

"Oh come off it, Don, everyone else round here knows, why not Tonks?" Cornworthy pointed out in reasonable tones. "Who's the lucky lad then – if that's the right word?"

"Yes, do tell me, _Nymphadora_," muttered O'Gregan sourly. "It might be someone I thought of as a friend. And if so, I could never let myself rest until I tracked the fellow down, now. It would only be fair to warn the poor spalpeen what he was letting himself in for."

Tonks grinned. "Bloke by the name of Francis Bletchley, if I remember rightly. Rich, posh, gentlemanly – you know, everything you're not, Don. Name sounded vaguely familiar, actually."

"It does, doesn't it?" mused Cassius as O'Gregan scowled. "Quite a well-known family, the Bletchleys. I must have met him somewhere."

"Buys his way out of trouble like Portia's old man, no doubt," said O'Gregan darkly, as Rhiannon rolled her eyes.

"Still, you never know, Don, it might be a good sign. And at least we got a _little_ information out of her," said Cornworthy. He turned to Tonks. "That reminds me, did you have any luck with your young man?"

"_What?_" It took Tonks a moment to realise what he was asking. "Oh, did he say anything about Charlotte, you mean?" She ignored her colleagues' smirks. "Not much. He seemed pretty convinced she hadn't done it."

"That's all right," said Cassius. "I'm reliably informed that the warrant has been agreed and will be with us in a couple of days. Friends in high places myself," he added at the others' looks of surprise, tapping the side of his nose. "In fact, we might have had it earlier if the system wasn't clogged up with Death Eater investigations again." He frowned. "And you'll notice that I predicted this correctly, because despite all the effort Rufus doesn't seem to have _got_ anywhere these past few weeks. Not even a hint of an arrest."

"Got some avuncular suggestions for him?" asked Rhiannon slyly.

Cassius sighed. "No. To be honest, I don't have any good ideas either, and even if I had, I doubt he'd be inclined to listen. He can be a little … prickly, sometimes."

Tonks shrugged. Given the issues she had with her family, she was hardly in a position to demur. "How did it go with the Caribbean Registry?" she asked, to change the topic.

"The source of supply, you mean? They passed the query on to the Haitian _Department de Magie_, who try to keep an eye on things but usually without much luck. They reported a rumour that someone had an English buyer – doing a favour for an old family friend – although they thought someone else actually _collected_ the stuff. So checking international Floo records and Portkey bookings won't get us very far, especially if the courier had the sense to not go directly there. I did ask the Haitians to keep an eye out, but they haven't spotted a pattern yet."

"Oh." Tonks frowned in disappointment.

Cassius smiled. "That's assuming they even tried, it's probably a low priority for them. We may have to dig out the records ourselves."

The rest of the team grinned at each other. "Fine by me," said Rhiannon. "I volunteer to go out there and look any time you like."

Cassius smiled back. "No you don't. I pull rank first. But actually, all the files are accessible via the Hall of Records on request. A few hours with one of the search portraits should be enough."

Tonks pretended to sulk. "Damn, you spoil all the fun."

-----

_Wednesday 23__rd__ September 1994_

Preparations for the interview with Charlotte Perks took most of Tonks' attention the following afternoon, so when her mirror phone began to ring it took a second or two to register. It seemed different from the normal sound, and she answered in puzzlement. "Hi. Tonks here."

To her surprise, the mirror didn't open out, and a clucking sound came from the other end. "I _do_ wish you'd use your first name, Nymphadora. It's such a lovely …"

"_Mum?_ Why on earth are you calling me at work using the Muggle phone connection ... _oh!_" The likely reason hit her, and she found herself suddenly short of breath.

"Yes, exactly. Now _listen_ to me please, Nymphadora. Your goblin in the portrait has just turned up. He thinks somebody is acting suspiciously at the bank. What do you want to do?"

"Hang on, Mum!" Tonks put her hand over the phone to cut off her mother's questioning. "Listen, everybody! We've got a bite! There's a Gringotts customer there _right now_ who sounds like he might be under the influence of Jacmel!"

Cassius and O'Gregan looked around the edges of their cubicles, then at each other, with stunned expressions. "How the hell does your _mother_ know about it?" demanded O'Gregan. "I thought you said a little pixie had a word in your ear down Knockturn Alley?"

She flapped her hands impatiently. "Never mind, I'll explain later! Hadn't somebody better get down to Gringotts before he gets away?"

"They _did_ promise to check very carefully and insist on signed disclaimers if anyone tried to take all their money out again," said Cassius, jumping to his feet. "Knowing the amount of paperwork the goblins can throw at you, that should give us at _least_ half an hour! Tonks, get a _name and description_. Donnacha, get down to Gringotts _now_ as quick as you can and we'll send it through to you. Have you still got that Cloak with you?"

"No, Arnie's got it at the moment, he's up in Birmingham …"

Cassius clucked his tongue. "I'll call him back in. Meet him outside the bank, make good use of it. _Go!_"

O'Gregan sprinted out of the office. Cassius turned to Tonks, who was in the middle of a rapid conversation with a somewhat ruffled Andromeda. "Who is it? Do we know?"

Tonks turned to him, relaying what her mother was saying. It was rather confusing, as she seemed to be doing exactly the same thing with whatever the portrait was telling her. "Hang on. He thinks the man's called … what was that again? Bradley Burton … no, Barton ... About sixty maybe, greying brown hair … overweight … wearing ordinary dark blue robes. Never heard of him ..."

"Neither have I, but I'll stay here and look him up. Wait a minute, _he_ thinks? … Wasn't that … Can your ... _mother_, is it?" Cassius stopped spluttering and stared at Tonks for a moment or two as if he dearly wanted to know what was going on, then seemed to think better of it. "Can she put him on?" He shook his head when he saw Tonks' look of doubt at whether a portrait could communicate that way. "On second thoughts, I'll pass on that description to Donnacha and Arnold. _You_ just go over there and get more details. I'll meet you at Gringotts."

-----

Her mother looked at her reprovingly as she Apparated into her parents' house a few minutes later. "Nympha –"

Tonks headed her off before she could get into her stride. "Not _now_, Mum! We'll talk later, OK? Where's this Gringott?"

"Here," said an amused voice from the wall. Tonks looked up to see a portrait of an elderly goblin, dressed in elegant robes of an old-fashioned but surprisingly human style. "May I assume you are Edward's little girl?"

_Little girl?_ Tonks bristled, but now wasn't the time to argue the point. "Yes. Thanks for helping, er – Mr Gringott," she said. "What did you see?"

The goblin smirked at her. "A customer, with the description I gave your good lady mother here, arrived at the counter a few minutes ago and made a request to remove all the money from his vault. That would always be unusual, and as the man in question is a longstanding and valued customer, there seems no reason he should wish to do that. Also, he appeared … distracted, shall we say, very like the previous customer who did this. Does that not sound as if he might be in some trouble?"

"Yes, it does," said Tonks, excited. "Will they be able to tell if anything's wrong with him? How long will it take him to get his money out? How much time have we got?"

He chuckled. "My dear young lady, the man will be subject to as many checks as my ... ah, _colleagues_ can devise. Unfortunately, the bank has limited facilities for specialised testing …"

"Damn!"

Gringott looked mildly disconcerted, but shrugged it off. "Indeed – I always felt it would be worthwhile to invest in a Probity Probe for situations like this. But of course, the Galleons will have to be physically removed from the vault ... and the processes of transferring and counting can be made to take a hour or two. Will that be sufficient for your purposes?"

"More than enough," said Tonks with relief. "Could you keep watch for us and tip us the wink when you see him arrive back at ground level?"

He blinked. "'_Tip you the_' … oh, I see what you mean. That may not be wise. If you wait inside the building for an hour or two, will it not look suspicious?" She could see him taking in her hair, today a bright lime green that would make the Minister's hat seem understated. "You do understand, I hope, this cannot be an _official_ visit on your part? We certainly wish to prevent a robbery, and naturally would be glad of any assistance you can offer, but it would set a _very_ bad precedent for it to become known that the bank had allowed Ministry interference on the premises ..."

Tonks forced a grin. "No problem. There'll be an Auror inside under an Invisibility Cloak, all you need to do is let him know when your customer gets back. We'll keep _all_ that out of the written reports, promise. No-one but us and the boss will ever need to know he was there."

Gringott raised his eyebrows. "I see. My dear young lady, just how precisely will _I_ know he is there, if the man is invisible? And for that matter, even if he made his presence known, would it not be singularly obvious that something was afoot if I made a signal to him?"

"Erm … " said Tonks, momentarily stumped. "Actually … _he_ can see _you_, so what if you just leave the portrait you're watching from when the man arrives? We've already got a rough description – thanks for that, by the way – so that would be good enough confirmation, and it wouldn't look suspicious, would it?"

Gringott considered the idea for a moment. "Well, no. No, I suppose that _would_ be efficacious." He looked impressed despite himself. "Yes, I can go along with that. It seems an acceptable strategy."

"Excellent! We may have to send someone in to keep him informed, but I'll do that – I'll keep changing the colour of my robes and my appearance. If you see anyone striking you don't recognise flitting in and out, it'll probably be me." She quickly headed off his question. "I can do that quite easily. Honest. Just give me a few minutes to get there and confer with the team."

Gringott exchanged amused glances with Andromeda and shrugged. "Very well. My pleasure to have made your acquaintance, Mrs Tonks, and thank you for allowing me into your home." He gave a little bow to Tonks and her mother, and walked out of the frame.

"Nymphadora …" Her mother seemed rather put-out by the rapid turn of events.

Tonks gave her a hug before she could get into her stride. "Thanks, Mum. You're a _star_. I'll explain everything later, all right? Well, everything I'm allowed to, anyway. But I've got to go, OK?"

Andromeda Tonks smiled weakly as she contemplated her daughter. "Of course, darling. It's just …"

"What?"

"I've never seen you quite like this. So … decisive. So _serious_ about something. This truly _is_ what you wanted, isn't it? It hadn't hit me this strongly before."

Tonks felt an annoying prickling behind her eyelids. "Yeah, Mum. It is. Thanks for everything." She gave her a peck on the cheek, turned away quickly, then Apparated to Diagon Alley.

-----

Cassius was waiting for her, standing reading the _Daily Prophet_ near the front entrance of the bank. He immediately seized her arm and steered her aside out of earshot of the uniformed goblin standing on the front steps.

"What's happening, Cassius?" hissed Tonks.

"Our target's gone down to the vaults, so he'll be a while yet," murmured Cassius, glancing anxiously at the bank. It seemed to be tacitly agreed that their conversation should be _sotto voce_. "Arnold's inside under that Cloak, Donnacha's waiting just round the corner. Now then, Tonks …"

"Er, yes?"

"Would you care to explain to me why your _highly respectable mother_ called you with this tip-off, rather than the dubious denizen of Knockturn Alley we'd been led to believe your contact was?" His expression wasn't quite accusing, but it was undeniably stern.

Tonks sighed. "Fair enough. But can we keep this confidential, _please_?"

"I'm not sure," he said, slight disapproval evident. "Is there something I should know?"

"I _did_ agree it with Scrimgeour," she said, colouring slightly. "No-one else was supposed to know what the link was. _Especially_ the goblins."

"I see." He contemplated her for a few moments. "All right, Tonks, I think I can guess what's going on. I seem to remember your father works for the bank?"

"Um …"

"He was to contact your mother when he saw something happening, I take it? That was rather risky for him, wasn't it?" He had an expression that she found hard to interpret; it might have been censure, it might not. Regardless, the Kneazle seemed to be well and truly out of the bag now.

"There was a … cut-out, I suppose you'd call it," she said resignedly, and proceeded to explain about Gringott's portrait, with a quick summary of what it had told her. Cassius kept the stern look throughout, but she did hope he was impressed.

"I see," he said again, after she'd finished. "Most ingenious. Gringott's portrait, eh? Well, that explains a lot. I heard he didn't always see eye to eye with today's goblins. I think we need to discuss this again, Tonks, but first things first. So you'll be wandering in and out of the bank with different faces to contact Arnold if needed, yes? You'll start with your own face so he _recognises_ you, I take it?"

"Ah – fair point. Unless you've got another plan?" she said, with a note of contrition. _I didn't really _like _keeping this from you …_

Cassius gave the matter consideration for a moment, but evidently he couldn't think of one either. "No, that will have to do for now. Off you go."

Tonks brightened the colour of her hair still further, as far as that was possible, let it grow halfway down the back of her robes so she stood out even more, and strode confidently into the bank. She talked more loudly than strictly necessary when asking the goblin teller for their current interest rate on long-term loans (and blanched when she heard it, hoping devoutly that she never needed one); and sure enough, as she walked away she once again felt someone invisible take her gently by the elbow and lead her aside, into a little alcove.

"Thought I recognised the barnet," said an amused, but very quiet, voice.

"Oh, I thought it was rather understated today," said Tonks, equally quietly and as deadpan as possible. She pretended to read through the sheets of parchment that outlined the new conditions the goblins insisted upon for advancement of credit, while rapidly explaining what was going on in an undertone. Her eyes flicked upwards briefly to the portrait of Gringott on the wall; he looked away hastily, as if he couldn't quite believe her appearance and was wondering if this was a good idea after all. She couldn't help a brief grin but quickly let it drop, as a grin was not an expression anyone reading the goblins' list of penalties for defaulting on a loan was likely to wear.

"Got it," murmured Cornworthy when she'd finished. "When I see this man Barton come back up, I'll make sure we can track him. Cassius has the details, we discussed them while you were at your mum's. And I'm _still_ waiting to hear the story of that, but it'll keep." Tonks winced – _this_ was a perfectly reasonable expression for a reader of the loan clauses – nodded briefly, and returned to where Cassius and O'Gregan were waiting.

"Arnie's got things covered, he says," she reported, with a nervous glance back towards the bank. "What's he going to do?"

"Put an Anti-Disapparation Jinx on Barton, and Tracking Spells on both man and money," replied Cassius. "Actually, he doesn't _have_ an Apparition licence, but it can't hurt to be on the safe side. You never know what he might have been told to try, and without a licence it won't seem suspicious if he doesn't do it. We want to ensure he doesn't get out of our sight."

"Can't we just take him into protective custody when he comes out?"

Both older Aurors snorted. "Don't be daft, Tonks," said O'Gregan. "We want to find out where he's _going_. If he is under the influence of that stuff, he won't remember a damn thing that would be useful to us, now."

"Oh yeah," said Tonks, deflated. "It's a bit of a risk, though, isn't it? What if he gets away from us? Leaves the Alley by Floo? Or Portkey?"

"He hasn't booked a Portkey," said Cassius reassuringly, "and I'd be _very_ surprised if he knew how to make one illegally. As for the Floo, I alerted the monitoring office as soon as we knew what his name was – if he uses it, Mary Edgecombe will keep a watch for his trace. And remember, we don't _know_ he's under an enchantment. For all we know, he might simply have been alarmed by the Death Eater activity and decided to take all his money and emigrate."

"You think so?"

"No, but it's possible, isn't it? I wouldn't be surprised if a few people _have_ made tentative plans, just in case."

"I see." Tonks glanced around; a nasty thought had just struck her. "What happens if he does what Scarf Boy did, goes through the Leaky Cauldron and out into Muggle London? It'll make it hard for us to use the Tracking Spell without being seen, won't it?"

Cassius raised his eyebrows. "Now _that's_ a very good point. Well, obviously we follow him, but we'd need backup." He took out his mirror phone. "I'll arrange for a little assistance to be available if we require it. Other than that, all we can do now is wait."

-----

Waiting proved to be a lot harder than it sounded. All of them, and Tonks in particular, became increasingly edgy as nothing much happened inside the bank. To ease the tension she wandered in and out a few times in different disguises to confer. The goblins on duty gave her funny looks, but seemed to decide that she wasn't doing anything that suggested a desire to rob them or their customers, and they'd rather not know what she _was_ doing.

Eventually, a very quiet murmur on the mirror phone from Cornworthy alerted them that something was happening. Tonks slipped into the bank again just in time to see a man fitting their target description making his way across the long marbled hall, with a few suspicious-looking goblins in tow helping him carry several large bags of gold. If he was planning to struggle along the Alley with them, he would be nice and easy to follow.

Unfortunately, the goblins had a solution to this problem, and she could just overhear them explaining that the terms of his account entitled him to the loan of a Shrinking Satchel to carry the money home. Tonks raised her eyebrows, impressed despite herself; she knew these were bewitched with a powerful Capacity Charm to allow many things to be stored inside, and in addition enchanted to be feather-light to carry. _She'd_ never been offered one – but then again, her Gringotts balance had hardly been large enough to merit it.

Tonks' positioning allowed her to get a good look at the man's eyes as he passed by with the Satchel slung over his shoulder, and she felt a sudden thrill. They seemed slightly unfocused, just as the briefing notes had said, which in turn suggested that they were _right_. She concentrated very hard to cast a discreet nonverbal Tracking Spell on him. She was sure that Cornworthy would have already done so, but as Cassius said, one more couldn't hurt. The last thing she wanted was for _another_ lead to get away from her.

They followed Barton as he walked down Diagon Alley at a brisk pace, apparently oblivious to the one invisible and three visible Aurors trailing along behind. They closed the gap when it became clear that he was heading for the Leaky Cauldron, which earned Tonks an approving nod from Cassius. If their target was under the influence of Liquor of Jacmel, he seemed to have clear instructions; he didn't linger in the pub, but walked straight through with an air of purpose and out into the bustle of Charing Cross Road, where he immediately hailed a passing Muggle black cab.

Cassius jerked his head down the street in the direction of another such vehicle waiting at the kerb. Tonks stared at it for a moment, confused, until she realised that the badge fixed to the windscreen bore the Ministry of Magic crest. She smiled. "So _this_ is what you meant by 'a little assistance'?"

He smiled, waving his Auror identification at the driver and opening the door for her. "Yes. Hop in, quick."

Tonks wasn't in the least surprised to find that once they were inside, the front passenger seat was wide enough for all three of them and the driver to sit in comfort. The back door opened and closed, apparently all by itself, then Cornworthy reappeared and threw the Cloak into a corner.

"Shall I do the honours?" asked a grinning O'Gregan as the other taxi pulled away. "You know, I always wanted to say this, so I did. _Follow that car!_"

The Ministry driver grinned right back at him and drove straight out into the traffic, which jumped aside to make way for them. "How close shall I get, sir?" he inquired.

"Can they see this car?" asked Cassius, with a thoughtful look at the taxi ahead.

He shrugged, twisting the wheel slightly to avoid an oncoming bus. "Maybe not the Muggles, but I reckon a wizard might notice. This thing's charmed for collision avoidance, but it ain't actually invisible."

Cassius grimaced. "Hang back as far as possible, then. Tonks, Arnold, take it in turns to use those Tracking Spells. It's a good job you both did them – easier to catch sudden movements." They both nodded, and began muttering the incantation in relay. She winced; at this close proximity, the wand wasn't just warm, it was _hot_.

Following their instructions, the driver swung the vehicle down the streets at every turn, with complete unconcern for anything that might be in the way. After the fourth or fifth time this happened, Tonks stopped closing her eyes and bracing herself for impact, and just sat back to enjoy the ride, which turned out to be an extended one. Whoever had administered the potion to Barton had evidently chosen an out-of-the-way spot for delivery of the money. The taxi in front drove steadily right through the heart of the city, and then out towards Catford in the south-east. By this time, the traffic had thinned out a great deal, which left Cassius slightly concerned.

"Won't another taxi following them look rather conspicuous?" he asked the driver.

The Ministry man just chuckled, dropped back out of sight of their quarry for a moment, and tapped his wand on the dashboard. Tonks, glancing through the windscreen, saw the outer appearance of a black cab change into a very ordinary-looking blue Ford.

"Nice!" she said in appreciation.

"Thanks, love," he said, grinning again. "All part of the service."

The Aurors began to tense up again as the taxi in front passed through a series of quiet shopping and residential areas without stopping. They were on tenterhooks by the time it eventually pulled up, next to a large open expanse of playing fields. Barton leapt out, muttered something to the driver who nodded and sat back, then passed through the gates and made his way onto the fields. Tonks frowned as they all climbed out of the Ministry car; there wasn't really any _cover_ out there on the football pitches, other than a few sets of goalposts even a house-elf would have had trouble hiding behind.

O'Gregan was apparently thinking along the same lines. "Lucky we brought that Cloak, then," he said. "Arnie, my lad, can you get close to him and see what he's doing? If anyone's watching, we don't want to _all_ tramp out there and scare them off, do we now?"

"I'm on to it, Don," muttered Cornworthy, disappearing from sight again.

Tonks waited and watched with the others; Barton was walking slowly across the field, stopping seemingly every few yards for no reason that was apparent from this distance. "You haven't got any Omnioculars under the seat, I suppose?" O'Gregan muttered to the driver.

He shook his head in confusion. "No, but I thought you Aurors had some gadget that made things look bigger, like?"

"We do?"

Tonks suddenly clicked her fingers. "Yeah, we do! Magnifying Glasses in those knife things of K's, I remember seeing it in the instruction scroll!"

"You _read_ that?"

"Hey, I was new, it all seemed pretty cool! Hang on …" She rummaged in her pockets, found the gadget, and slid a thin strip of transparent material out of it. "Shield me, will you?"

They moved to either side to hide her as she fixed the strip in front of her eyes, adjusting the focus to watch Bradley Barton. With its help, she could see that the frequent pauses were to read directions off a piece of paper in his hand.

"What's he doing?" said Cassius quietly.

"Following the touchlines – no hang on, he's stopped. Small open area between several pitches. He's got his back to me," she said, frustrated. "Bending down over something – he's got his wand out. He's dumping that satchel somewhere … Watch out, he's coming back …" As Barton made his way back towards them, she got a better view. "There's a small sort of metal thing in the ground where he was, any ideas?"

"Storm drain, maybe?" said O'Gregan. "Wouldn't be a bad hiding place that, you could charm it shut so you'd need magic to open it. Arnie might have got close enough to tell us what spells he was saying. What do we do now, Cassius old son?"

Cassius thought for a moment then nodded to himself, coming to a decision. "Donnacha, if he kept the taxi here he must be intending to return the same way – or at least have it take him to the nearest Floo connection. You take the Ministry car and follow him, use another Tracking Spell. Get Mary to help if he Floos anywhere. If he ends up back home – call the office to check the address, it's down south somewhere – arrest him. Using spells in the middle of a Muggle playing field with no cover will do as an excuse. Get the curse-breakers to see if they can find evidence of Jacmel. They should know exactly what to look for this time."

"Got you." As the man passed by them O'Gregan pointed his wand at him surreptitiously, then jumped back in beside the Ministry driver. Tonks and Cassius moved away and leant against the railings, pretending to chat, as both vehicles drew away.

Cassius took out his mirror phone. "_Arnold Cornworthy_," he said, very quietly. "Arnold, where are you?"

"Still out on the field, Cassius," came the equally quiet reply. "I thought you'd be able to handle Barton, and I wanted a look at that drain. I heard him enchant it shut, but he didn't do anything else to it. Want me to take a look inside?"

"No. Just keep an eye on it. Donnacha's following him in the car. Stay under the Cloak, start casting Anti-Disapparation Jinxes on the area. I'll see if I can rustle up a couple of Patrol people as backup."

He put the phone back in his pocket and turned to Tonks. "Right," he said briskly. "you, me, and Arnold will have to keep watch here until someone arrives to pick up that satchel. Arnold's got the Cloak, and we should be safe watching from a distance. Whoever did it probably chose these wide open spaces to make it easy to see if anyone was following, but it means we can see what _they're_ doing just as easily."

"Good point," said Tonks. "Where do we hide?"

"My guess is that whoever gave him the potion – and after seeing Barton out there, I'm confident this isn't _normal_ behaviour – will wait until it's fully dark." He waved a hand around vaguely at the autumnal early evening light which was just beginning to fail. "So I think we should take a suggestion from Rufus Scrimgeour, and use a Disillusionment Charm to hide ourselves. How are you with those?"

Tonks shuffled her feet. "Erm … never _quite_ got the hang of them, to be honest. Half the time I either end up sort of translucent, or it's just random limbs that turn transparent. Or bits of clothing sometimes, which is _really_ embarrassing."

"I see," said Cassius, grinning. "Allow me, then." He looked around cautiously, then tapped her hard on the top of the head with his wand, and she felt a trickling sensation along her back. She glanced down and saw … nothing much at all, just a vague hint of a shape moving about.

"Nice one, Cassius," she said, with an appreciative grin he couldn't actually see.

-----

Evening turned gradually into night as the Aurors waited, with varying degrees of patience, for whoever might turn up to collect the money. Tonks, hiding in the shadows of the changing rooms and scanning the area with her Magnifying Glasses, noticed a couple of vague blurs arrive at about ten o'clock, presumably the requested backup from the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol. They conferred with the other vague blur she knew to be Cassius, and moved to cover the gates.

The playing fields were otherwise largely deserted. A group of teenagers held an impromptu game of football on one pitch while there was still some light, and a few people took short-cuts across the ground, but none went near enough to the hidden satchel of Galleons to excite the Aurors' interest.

By the time midnight had come and gone, Tonks was feeling extremely stiff from a mixture of tension and boredom. So when a dark figure came in through the far gate and rapidly crossed the field, it took a few seconds to register as anything out of the ordinary. She caught her breath once she realised that it was heading directly towards the drain. Very carefully, she slipped away from the pavilion, concentrating hard on _not_ tripping over and alerting their suspect. She slipped into place behind the figure as it passed

The dim shape paused by the drain and bent over, making arm movements consistent with the casting of _Alohomora_ – although Tonks couldn't hear the words, and hoped fervently that Cornworthy had managed to get close under the Cloak in case they needed to give evidence on the point. The figure lifted the cover off and gently eased out the satchel; this time, Tonks could hear a distinct clink of gold and a grunt of satisfaction.

He, or she, threw the satchel over a shoulder and took a long, hard look around; then, apparently satisfied that there were no witnesses to worry about, they turned on the spot in an obvious attempt to Disapparate. Tonks, creeping closer still, could hear a low mutter of surprise and disgust when this failed. The figure shook itself and tried again, with an equal lack of success.

Tonks had her wand ready now. After this second failed attempt, their suspect paused for a moment, then, as if hoping against hope that this was merely a bad dream, spun quickly on the spot in a third attempt. When this too failed, they froze; then whipped out a wand in unmistakeable panic.

"_Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!_" The man – it was definitely a man's voice, and one that seemed both terrified and vaguely familiar – started randomly firing off curses into the darkness, but as he couldn't see what to aim at, none of them hit anything.

There was a cough from behind him, and Tonks glanced over to see Cornworthy emerge from underneath the Cloak. Their target turned to face him with a hex on his lips, but the Auror was quicker, and his Disarming Charm sent the wand flying out of the man's hand.

"You're under arrest, son," said Cornworthy crisply. "Put the bag down and your hands by your sides while I Incarcerate you. It'll be less uncomfortable for you that way."

The man took no notice of this sage advice. Instead, he turned and ran blindly away across the fields, perhaps hoping to lose himself in the darkness; but before he could get very far, a wand-tip flared with light ahead of him. He halted in alarm, allowing both Tonks and Cornworthy to take aim; he crumpled to the ground face downwards as their Stunners hit him.

The Aurors and Patrollers gathered round. "Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have a result," said Cassius in a pleased voice. "Let's see who our thief is, then." He bent down and gently turned the man over.

Tonks looked at the youngish face blankly for a moment, trying to remember where she'd seen it before, and then it hit her. An encounter during her first weeks on duty that had turned out to be surprisingly useful in a number of ways.

"Well, well," she said, grinning. "Look who's gone into business on his _own_, then."


	19. Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

**18. Two Steps Forward, One Step Back**

_Thursday 24__th__ September 1994_

Taking the man they'd arrested through the formalities proved a surprisingly slow process in the early hours of the morning. By the time he'd been Ennervated, booked under the name 'John Smith', tested for jinxes and Dark items, and safely locked away in a holding cell, it was well past three in the morning. Tonks and Cornworthy reluctantly offered to get into work at the usual time ready for the interview, but Cassius simply shook his head and waved them away with a smile.

"I think _both_ of you deserve a decent night's sleep after that. Take the morning off and get here for midday. That'll give me time to talk to Donnacha and look up what we know about this chap. Seldom hurts to let them stew for a bit."

"Don't _you_ deserve a decent night's sleep too?" asked Tonks in a pointed manner.

"Oh, you know what they say, the old need less sleep," he said airily. "I've been staying up late and getting up early for a while now. But I can certainly understand if you youngsters can't last the pace …"

They exchanged glances. Cornworthy seemed to be making an effort not to laugh, although Tonks felt less like doing so when she remembered why Cassius had been staying up late. "Very well, Cassius," he said, with a wink at Tonks. "See you this afternoon."

Tonks wondered if she might find it difficult to sleep after all the excitement, but realised when she awoke at eleven o'clock that she must have fallen asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow. Clearly staying up on late-night vigils wasn't her strong point, and she hoped it wouldn't be something she needed to do very often.

She was taken aback to find a bustle of activity when she arrived at work. Everyone else was there already, including Rhiannon Davies, perched precariously on the edge of O'Gregan's cubicle desk.

"Morning … er, _afternoon_, Tonks," she said cheerfully. "I wondered where Donnie had gone running off to last night, and now I know. Congratulations!"

"Wotcher, Rhi," said Tonks. "Thanks. What's the plan, and why all the rush?"

"The rush, my girl," said a somewhat rumpled-looking O'Gregan, glancing up at her, "is because the Wizened Lot, showing their usual perfect sense of timing, have gone and signed the Veritaserum warrant for our Miss Perks _today_, just when we have another suspect! And they seemed rather put out when we suggested it could wait a day or two, so they did, despite the fact they've been sitting on their backsides for a _couple of weeks_ without making a decision."

"Not a problem, Donnacha," said Cassius, sticking his head around the corner of the cubicle. She thought he looked disgustingly fresh again for a man who'd had so little sleep, just as he had on the morning they'd gone to Brighton in search of Ballantyne. "Good afternoon, Tonks. We'll simply have to split our efforts, won't we? You and Arnold can interview Charlotte Perks – the Ashford affair was your case first, after all." Both men looked at Cassius with surprise and a certain respect. "Tonks and I will see what we can get out of our robber. I hope we won't be needing Veritaserum to persuade _him_ to talk."

"Did we get confirmation he was using Liquor of Jacmel?" asked Tonks hopefully.

"We did indeed," said O'Gregan with a grin. "That Barton fellow had the taxi drive him all the way back to the Leaky Cauldron, then he asked old Tom if he could use the Floo without buying a drink first. So I picked him up before he went home and brought him in to let the curse-breakers have a look. They said it was like seeing Farley all over again, they did. I snatched a few hours sleep in the office until he snapped out of it, and was he _horrified_ to find out what he'd been doing for the past twenty-four hours. And our analyst boys –" he waved a roll of parchment "– were absolutely, positively, one hundred percent sure this time that he'd been subject to Liquor of Jacmel. I _do_ so like it when we get clear proof, so I do."

"Brilliant!" said Tonks. "What did you do with him? Can he identify anyone?"

"No such luck," said the Irishman regretfully. "He's got no real recollection of what happened since about midday yesterday when he drunk the stuff, just like it says in the notes. But given how the fellow you caught was behaving, I don't think it matters."

"Was he who I thought he was?" asked Tonks. In the dark she hadn't been entirely sure. "And what's his real name?"

"Barry Lewis," Cassius informed her. "You were right, you _did_ recognise him. That made him quite easy to trace – minor criminal record, nothing too serious before now."

"Who is he, then?" asked Rhiannon curiously.

"The bloke who works in that 'JW Wells' shop in Knockturn Alley," Tonks informed her.

Rhiannon raised her eyebrows. "The one who told you about that bookshop originally?"

"Yeah, _and_ the one talking to Scarf Boy the day Cassius followed him."

"Yes indeed," said Cassius, nodding. "I imagine he might have quite a lot more he could tell us, don't you?"

-----

The wizard named Barry Lewis was looking decidedly the worse for wear when they arrived in the interview room, and it seemed obvious that _he_ hadn't slept well the previous night. He glanced up at them as they entered, fear showing in his eyes.

"Good afternoon, Barry," said Cassius pleasantly. "I'm sure you know why you're here, but for the record, I'll list the charges against you. Possession of a Class A Non-Tradeable Substance, namely Liquor of Jacmel. Actual use of said substance on an innocent party. Four offences of major robbery. We'll throw in resisting arrest and visible use of spells in a Muggle-inhabited area as well. Not that we really need them, but we like to keep things neat and tidy, you see." Lewis didn't reply. "Now then, Barry, what are you going to tell us?"

Lewis looked at him sullenly and mumbled, "Nothing."

Cassius and Tonks looked at each other with smiles. "Oh dear, haven't we been here before?" he said.

"I don't care. I'm not saying nothing." Lewis seemed to be avoiding their eyes as much as possible.

"Barry, you might want to reconsider that. You're looking at a life sentence in Azkaban if you don't," said Tonks, irritated.

"What!" He jerked in the chair and Tonks blinked; _surely he had to have known that?_

Cassius contemplated him. "Barry, do you mean you didn't know that using Liquor of Jacmel is considered the notional equivalent of an Unforgiveable Curse?"

Apparently, Lewis hadn't. "N –no?" he stuttered.

"We can show you the Wizengamot ruling if you like," said Tonks cheerfully. She rummaged through her notes, found the appropriate piece of parchment, and handed it to him. "Here, have a butcher's …"

Lewis took it with obvious trepidation, read it quickly and blanched. He looked up at Tonks and Cassius with a helpless, hunted expression.

"A life sentence in Azkaban might not be very long, though, to be fair," said Tonks with her best poker face. It irritated her that she'd slipped back into the part of Bad Auror to Cassius' Good Auror. "People don't last long in there, you know, just go out of their minds and fade away as the Dementors suck out all the good memories they have …"

"No!" Lewis tried to get up; Tonks stood up, grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him back into the chair, as befitted the role she seemed to be adopting. She exchanged a glance with Cassius; he seemed mildly amused, but willing to play along.

"Of course, we might be able to do a deal, Barry," he said quietly.

"Wh – what?"

"A deal, Barry. We'd rather like to know where you got the Liquor of Jacmel from. If you told us, and put us on the right path to finding the supplier, I'm sure we'd be willing to recommend to the court that we only charge you on the robbery counts. You didn't make the potion all by yourself, did you?"

Lewis' eyes flicked around the bare surroundings again. He looked haunted. "Yeah, I did. I – I'm good at potions, always have been."

Tonks shook her head. "Well, it's a real shame you threw away your academic career for a life of crime then, Barry," she said, with as much cold sarcasm as she could manage.

"Eh?" Lewis looked at her blankly.

"Well, no-one outside of Haiti ever managed to make Liquor of Jacmel before. Still, if you've worked out how it's done, you might be able to trade _that_ bit of knowledge for a reduction in sentence too. What's the procedure? I always wondered."

"Er …" Lewis had the hunted look again.

"Or maybe you could just cut the crap and tell us who you got it from," she told him brutally.

"He'd kill me!" blurted Lewis. It seemed to dawn on him that saying this wasn't really helping his case, and an expression of horror spread slowly across his features.

Cassius shrugged. "To be perfectly honest, old chap, so will having every feeling of happiness and hope sucked out of you by Dementors. At least this way you have a chance to get _out_ of there eventually." His expression was not unsympathetic; Tonks knew very well that he didn't particularly approve of the creatures guarding Azkaban, but he certainly wasn't above using the threat of them against a suspect. More gently, he added, "Suppose you start by telling us why you did this a fourth time after a gap of a few months. You must have netted over fifteen thousand Galleons from the first three robberies. Wasn't that enough for you? Why risk this again?"

"I wanted – I _needed_ the money," said Lewis sourly. "I wanted to be able to get away, didn't I? Can read the signs as well as anyone else."

"What signs?" asked Tonks, intrigued.

Lewis shuddered. "_What_ signs? Bloody _Death Eaters_ on the loose again! I'm old enough to remember everyone wetting themselves at the thought of them last time around." Tonks realised with a start that Lewis couldn't be more than a decade older than her; he'd have just left school when You-Know-Who fell. "Anyway, how was I supposed to know anybody had rumbled me? Goblins weren't going to say, were they? Nothing in the paper about it."

Cassius actually rolled his eyes, and Tonks too was surprised at how idiotic that sounded. "You think we'd let you _know_ what we knew?" she said. This brought no comment from Lewis, whose face had fallen comically.

Cassius eventually broke the silence. "Look, young man, I'm afraid that with the evidence we have against you, a guilty verdict is a formality. So there really are only two ways this can go. One, you voluntarily tell us what you know. Two, we get a Veritaserum warrant and get it out of you anyway. I can't encourage you to imagine for one second that the Wizengamot would quibble about granting one considering the seriousness of your offences, and especially not – as you yourself have realised – in the current climate. The only differences are that with option one, _you_ can earn yourself some brownie points for the sentencing, and _we_ get the information that little bit sooner, which may be of value to us."

"Unless of course you're a Master of Mental Magic and can fight the Truth Potion, which I rather doubt," said Tonks brightly.

Lewis looked daggers at her. His eyes flicked to Cassius. "Would you keep me safe till I come to trial?"

"_Safe?_" said Tonks, incredulous. "What do you mean, _safe_?"

"I heard what happened to that Ballantyne bloke. I'm not so stupid I can't put two and two together. Your lot arrested him on _something_ to do with the Bu … this stuff. I've met Ballantyne, seen him about. He'd probably have spilled his guts in the end. He'd have reason to, wouldn't he? But he got done in for it, didn't he?"

"If he had 'spilled his guts', as you put it," said Cassius mildly, "he'd most probably _not_ have been 'done in'. He'd still be alive today if he hadn't given whoever killed him a chance to get to him."

"He was stupid, he tried to hold out," added Tonks roughly. She was curious to know what Lewis had been going to say before he cut himself off. "What are _you_ going to do, Barry?"

Lewis was positively shaking now, and Tonks had the very strong impression that he'd never realised the seriousness of what he was getting himself into. "All … all right," he said. "Look, you've got to promise that you'll go easy on me, OK?"

"That depends on what we get from you, old chap, I'm afraid," said Cassius. "Let's start with a basic question. Where did you hear about Liquor of Jacmel?"

Lewis' shoulders slumped in defeat. "Oh all right. I overheard Wellsey chatting about it with him, OK?"

"With _who_?"

"Don't know his real name. Calls himself the 'Butler'. Bit of a private joke, far as I can tell. Supplies stuff for people, like, odd stuff he gets from abroad, he's got contacts out there." Lewis waved a hand in a vague manner, suggesting that anywhere outside the British Isles was more or less the same to him. "From what I heard from Wellsey, he's been doing it a while now, sort of took over the business from a bloke who used to be in the trade years ago. Anyway, he was saying he'd got some of the stuff in for an order and had a bit on hand, and wanted to know if Wellsey would sell any." Lewis laughed, without sounding as if he found it especially funny. "Old sod said it was too much of a risk to flog it in the shop. Bet _he_ knew what the sentence was."

"How can you _not_ know this man's name?" asked Tonks in a disbelieving voice.

Lewis snorted. "Don't be daft love. Keeps his face hidden when he's on business, don't he? Basic precaution. Better to have people suspicious of how you look than have them _know_ for sure who you are. A lot of people don't use their real name down Knockturn Alley, or anywhere _else_ you can get dodgy stuff, you know? Would _you_?"

_Fair point, but …_ "I've never heard of anyone called the Butler. You, Cassius?"

Cassius shook his head. "No, never. Sorry, Barry, you're not convincing us."

"Well, you wouldn't have, would you?" said Lewis, beginning to sweat a little. "He's a bit of a specialist, like, innee? Knows better than to get in the way of the big boys, but I've heard he'll supply them with stuff if they're after it, does a nice little trade from all I hear. You have to be told about him. Probably they all think he's a respectable young bloke when he's out and about without that stupid scarf on."

"Who do you mean by the _big boys_?" asked Cassius cautiously.

"You know. _Proper_ Dark wizards, not just the … well, ordinary decent crooks most of us on the Alley cater to. The _real_ villains."

_Yeah right_, thought Tonks. _I don't suppose you'd have argued about selling to … oh, just for the sake of argument, my uncle. But then, I wouldn't be surprised if you were scared of him too …_

"What do you know of that?" said Cassius sharply. "If you want to get any kind of reduction in sentence, you're going to have to tell us _everything_, Mr Lewis."

"Not much. I hear rumours, like?" he said, panicking a little. "There were people who'd got a reputation coming down the Alley, people they said had been _really_ bad once upon a time – You-Know-Who's lot, probably, the ones they never pinned anything on. They seemed to be sniffing around, making plans again …"

"Like the riot at the World Cup?"

"Yeah, wouldn't be surprised. Don't know. Wasn't going to ask for bleedin' details, was I? When I was a kid, you didn't cross them if you knew what was good for you." Cassius nodded sadly as if he'd heard this sort of tale many times before. "On the prowl again, weren't they? More than enough for me. I can tell which way the wind's blowing. I wanted _out_. Especially after the World Cup. I was _there_, I _saw_ them. Scared the willies outa me. Had to get as much as I could as quickly as I could when I saw the chance, didn't I?"

"And the thought of nicking lots of money wouldn't have crossed your mind _otherwise_, then?" said Tonks sarcastically. She decided to try a little jab. "And you knew all this _before_ the World Cup, when the first three robberies took place? You seem to be very well up on their plans, Barry."

Lewis scowled, but – even to Tonks eye – looked scared rather than shifty. "Well, all right. I wanted to make a little money, don't we all? But I wouldn't have risked it again so soon otherwise …"

Cassius exchanged a mildly sceptical look with Tonks. "Tell me how you got hold of the Liquor of Jacmel you used, please."

"Bought it from the Butler, didn't I?"

"You _bought_ it … That must have been rather expensive?"

"Yeah, it was, but I had a bit put by for a rainy day. And once I tried the first job and it worked and there wasn't a big row in the papers or anything, I could buy up some more, couldn't I?"

"I see. What did he say when he realised you knew about it? For someone who claims to be worried what he might do if you told anyone, wasn't it rather a risk to approach him and place an order?"

Lewis swallowed. "Well, he wasn't too keen, like, but I suppose he worked out that if I already knew about him having the stuff, it was safer to have me as a customer, yeah? In the same boat then, you know?"

Tonks had been nodding away, then something he'd said caught her attention. "Wait a minute, you said you bought _more_?"

"Good point," said Cassius, acknowledging the question with a brief inclination of his head. "How _much_ more?"

"A dozen doses. Probably a good chunk of what he had left in stock at the time, I wouldn't be surprised. Most of it's left," he added hopefully.

This time the looks that Tonks and Cassius exchanged were delighted. "A dozen?" she said. "So you weren't planning _many_ more robberies, then?" Lewis' face fell.

"Turn _that_ over to us, Mr Lewis," said Cassius, seizing the advantage, "and that will definitely be a decent slice off your sentence. Where is it? In your house?"

"Nah, in the shop. Safer. In a little secret drawer I fixed up in the back that old Wellesey don't know about," said Lewis, almost eagerly. "I'll tell you the password and everything if you want to go and get it."

"You can write it all down in a minute and we'll send someone round as soon as possible," said Cassius. "Just to warn you though, old chap – if we have any trouble, so will _you_. The shop will be closed now, I take it? When is Mr Wells expected back?"

Lewis snorted. "Another couple of weeks, at least. Spends half the year gadding about, don't he? Don't suppose anyone will care that much whether we open the shop, bloody historic or not. Like I say, it's not _my_ place to worry about."

"Good. Now, if you can repay the money that will also help your case. No doubt you spent some, but how much do you have left?"

"Most of it," said Lewis. His voice held an odd mixture of relief, regret, and eagerness to please. "Didn't want to draw too much attention to myself yet, you see? Owed a bit though, had to pay that off, and I bought some decent tickets for the World Cup … but well, yeah, there's still about ten thousand left." Cassius nodded.

"How did you select the victims then?" asked Tonks. She wondered if that might give them a clue to the supplier, but Lewis' answer disappointed her.

"Worked it out, didn't I?" he said with a hint of pride. "There's always a good few 'respectable people' who wander down the Alley looking for stuff that maybe ain't _quite_ as respectable as they are. Nondescript birds looking for ingredients for love potions, like –" Tonks grinned to herself at this "– blokes too sometimes, people wanting cursed stuff, kids trying to impress their mates with a bit of Dark Arts, you name it. Well, I watched them, and got talking to people in _other_ shops who sold stuff to them too, and followed some of them back and found out who they were, yeah? There were a few who were well off but didn't take enough care of themselves – dead easy to hang around the Leaky Cauldron and slip some of the stuff in their glass when they'd gone out to the bogs, wasn't it? That's what I did with that Barton bloke."

"Right," said Tonks, regretfully. Lewis was undoubtedly a liar on general principles, but trapped as he was, he sounded convincing. She glanced at Cassius, who seemed to feel the same way.

"Let's go over some of the details again, Barry," said Cassius. "But first of all, you'd better tell us how to find that secret drawer so we can send someone to investigate …"

-----

"Well, that went quite nicely."

Tonks looked up from perusing the output of the Auto-Dictation Quill that had taken down everything Lewis said, and grinned at her partner. "Yeah, you could say that. Is Rhi back from the shop yet?"

Cassius grinned back at her. "Yes, just a few minutes ago – things went without a hitch. She and a fellow from the Patrol got in and found the hiding place using Lewis' information, no trouble at all."

"Any luck?"

"Yes indeed. They sealed up the shop and dropped off ten bottles of a pale yellowish liquid for Magical Analysis to have a look at. Apparently they were _delighted_ to have so much available for investigation."

"Wonder what Mr Wells will think about his shop being closed when he gets back?" asked Tonks with a chuckle. "Is it _really_ historic?"

"It probably is, come to think of it," said Cassius reminiscently. "That shop's been in Knockturn Alley for as long as I can recall – and you needn't remind me that that's a long time, young lady," he said, wagging a finger. "The original J.W.Wells would have been something like his great-grandfather. I believe the story was that he earned a certain notoriety by getting drunk in a Muggle pub one evening, and talking about his business to a man who wrote songs. He made a musical show out of the idea, which could have been a nasty Statute breach, but fortunately he got enough of the details wrong to show that he hadn't really taken Wells seriously. That's the tale, anyway. Of course, these people often make things up to sound more impressive."

"Right." Tonks glanced at the long roll of parchment again. "How much of what _Barry Lewis_ said did you think was made up, Cassius? I didn't believe a word about him only going into the robbery business because the Death Eaters were coming out to play again."

"Well, neither did I," agreed Cassius. "Although … I have to say, I _did_ find him convincing when he talked about the latest robbery. He looked genuinely scared, which isn't really surprising. But I very much doubt that was his _original_ motive. I suspect it was an idea he'd had in the back of his mind for some time, but never saw how to bring it off before he overheard that conversation. He would have had to work quickly to find his victims otherwise."

"Did you think that stuff about the 'Butler' was fishy?" asked Tonks. "If this Butler character was so reluctant to sell to Lewis, why would he be trying to flog the stuff to _Beatrice Easton?_"

"Blackmail, I should think," said Cassius with a shrug. "She may have had the elementary sense not to let him know her name – but when you talked to him, he seemed to know a lot about her, even so. It wouldn't have been difficult for him to follow her after they met and find out that she'd gone back to work at the Ministry – and once he had her buying truly illegal potions, he'd have her hooked. I think she had a very lucky escape."

Tonks grimaced, remembering her encounters with the man. "Too right. Is there any record of someone using 'The Butler' as an alias?"

"Actually, yes, sort of. I checked on the WEB Access, and there _were_ a couple of vague mentions of a supplier using that name. So Lewis may well be telling the truth, even if it's not all he knows – not least because he _didn't_ give us much in the way of details that would excuse him, not even made-up ones. We'll find out soon enough, anyway."

"Veritaserum again?"

"Yes. I don't anticipate a problem this time – we've got all the evidence we'll ever need. And Mr Lewis doesn't have any friends in high places. For the moment, though, I'm going to assume that what he told us is worth checking out – he certainly _seemed_ frightened enough to tell us as much as he could. Good work on that, by the way. We'll make a Bad Auror of you yet!"

"Well, I hope you don't," said Tonks, unhappily. "But I _do_ work at doing what I need to though, Cassius. I may joke a bit, and I …well, I make mistakes, but I take the _job_ seriously."

"Good."

"It's what I always really, _really_ wanted to do, you know?"

"Yes, I know," said Cassius, smiling. "Mind you, on that subject I _do_ want a word or two with you about …" He broke off and glanced up towards the main office doors, and the smile widened; Tonks, following his gaze, saw O'Gregan and Cornworthy coming through them. "Well, never mind for the moment. With a little bit of luck, we may have a double result on our hands. I wonder what Miss Charlotte Perks had to say?"

-----

Tonks, watching the faces of her two colleagues as they approached the cubicles, felt a slight twinge of unease. They had curiously mixed expressions that seemed unable to decide between satisfaction and disappointment.

Cassius didn't seem to have noticed. "So, Donnacha, Arnold, what do you have for us?" he asked cheerfully. "Did you find out what her connection to Portia Blackstock was?"

O'Gregan looked slightly embarrassed. "Er, yes, Cassius old lad. It seems from what she told us after she took the Truth Potion – with a certain reluctance, you might say – that the two of them met each other at that charity of yours, as we thought they might have, now. They did get to know each other away from the office, and they've actually been spending a fair bit of time together, so they have. In fact Charlotte's been round at Portia's house a number of times when her parents have been out doing the social circuit, without them knowing …"

"Excellent! Why all the secrecy?"

"Well, from what she said I don't think … erm, that she's quite the kind of friend Portia's parents wanted for their darling daughter … er, you know, not when they wanted her to be out and about meeting young fellows they might be able to marry her off to … I mean, erm …" O'Gregan shuffled his feet awkwardly and shot a desperate glance at his partner, clearly seeking his help in explaining to Cassius. Tonks was struggling very hard not to laugh, and when she caught Cornworthy's eye he seemed to be having the same problem.

Cassius rolled his eyes and took pity on the Irishman. "Donnacha, _please_. For goodness' sake – I may have been _born_ in a different era, but after eighty years in this business, believe me there is _very_ little that would shock or even surprise me any more! All right, so young Charlotte and Portia are _friends_, by which I assume you really mean _lovers_." He grinned. So did Tonks; she'd had an inkling that something like this might be the case. "Wonderful! That finally provides us with a solid connection and a motive. So how close is their relationship? Enough to plan murder with each other, clearly?"

"Erm … fairly strong," said O'Gregan, looking daggers at Tonks, whose mouth was twitching at his discomfiture despite everything she could do to keep a straight face. "But that's what we wanted to talk to you about …"

"Are you sure, Don?" A brief giggle escaped from Tonks. She managed to compose herself. "What did Charlotte have to say about the night Ashford got stabbed? She was supposed to be in that Muggle restaurant in France, yeah? Was what happened Portia flying solo? Or did she plan it with Charlotte, and the French business was just her making sure she kept her nose clean? Or did they arrange for the restaurant witnesses to lie through their teeth, and they were really out and about together in the Transfigured Toad?"

O'Gregan scowled and exchanged helpless looks with Cornworthy, who had suddenly stopped grinning. "Ah. Yes. Now then, young Nymphadora, you're not going to like this bit, you're not …"

"We're not?" said Tonks, bemused

"No," put in Cornworthy with a grimace. "You see, according to our Miss Perks, not only was _she_ in France dining, Portia was _with_ her."

"_What?_" said Cassius sharply. "Are you sure? How is that possible? I thought neither of them could Apparate?"

O'Gregan shrugged. "They can't. We did check, Cassius old lad. But even so, France isn't _hard_ to get to, now is it? Go by Floo to the Diagon Alley station, then there are regular scheduled international Portkeys to Paris every couple of hours, then they could take Muggle transport to the restaurant. Nice and anonymous all the way, and wouldn't take more than three-quarters of a hour, if that."

"But what about that house-elf who said she was at home …" Tonks trailed off. "Oh. Right. They keep their masters' secrets. Like you said, you can't trust them to tell the truth, can you? But why wouldn't it have told Portia's _parents_, in that case?"

Cornworthy smiled slightly. "Because her dad was the one giving him the orders – and unlike his wife, he didn't grow up with house-elves around, and so he didn't _quite_ word his orders right. Jinky – that's the elf – was told to let them know if Portia was meeting any young _men_ they didn't know about and might not approve of, but they didn't ask about _female_ companions. So Portia ordered him not to mention Charlotte unless specifically asked, and her mum and dad never knew there was anything to ask _about_ – so they didn't."

Tonks glanced at Cassius. He seemed to be as dumbfounded as she was. "What about the witnesses at that restaurant?" he said. "None of them mentioned Portia?"

"We didn't think to ask either, did we?" said O'Gregan with a snort. "Not that it would have helped – they were little Charlotte's friends, and she asked them not to mention Portia being there."

"But you're saying they both have an _alibi!_" Tonks said, exasperated. "You're quite sure that … oh I don't know, the Veritaserum hadn't run out or something?"

"Don't be daft, Nymphadora," snapped O'Gregan. He took a deep breath and continued in a milder tone. "We _did_ get the Healer who was there to administer the Veritaserum to check – and before you ask, we _also_ got him to look her over for evidence of Memory Charms or thought removal or curses, because _we_ sure couldn't find any evidence of them just from her answers. And she came up clean as far as we all could tell."

"So if she hasn't had her mind affected by spells …" Cassius trailed off, obviously thinking hard. "She can't have taken the antidote to Veritaserum – or if she had, it would have worn off by now, so it comes to the same thing. She _could_ be under Jacmel? … no, same problem there, it would have worn off long ago. I can't believe Portia knows how to cast Imperius, so that leaves … some form of resistance?"

"Oclo-whatsit, you mean?" asked Tonks, remembering what Kingsley had talked about. "Isn't that like resistance to Imperius – or Jacmel? Very rare?"

"I'm not sure," said Cassius, clearly surprised. "Do they teach you about that in Auror training nowadays?"

"Oh, er, no, not properly," said Tonks, backtracking hastily. It wouldn't do to have colleagues asking funny questions about her outside activities. "But it was mentioned a few times, and it sounded interesting. Isn't it supposed to be really hard?"

"I believe it's achievable with the right training," mused Cassius. "Easier than resisting Imperius, anyway. Adapting the technique to resist _Veritaserum_ isn't as straightforward as all that, though, and from what I remember, the difficulty was always _finding_ someone who had the skill and time to teach it properly. Very few of us in the Department ever bothered … But I suppose Miss Perks must have done so, somehow." He paused, looking extremely disappointed. "Damn! Just when I thought we had her, _another_ loose end to chase down."

"Or she could be telling the truth," said Cornworthy quietly. "That the _simplest_ explanation, Cassius."

"But that …" Cassius looked at him unhappily. "That doesn't make _sense_, Arnold! Charlotte Perks has means and motive, and she had opportunity for the second attempt, and now we find she really _does_ have a connection to someone who had a _clear_ opportunity for the first attempt. And then you tell me they both have an alibi? Isn't it rather too … pat?"

"Yes, it is," said Cornworthy, shrugging, "but we can't prove otherwise, can we?"

"What about the stuff you found in her kitchen?" asked Tonks without much hope.

"Sticks with her story that she didn't know it was there," said O'Gregan, with a shrug. "And however much we tried to goad her, she didn't get all annoyed and vehement the way she's been up to now, she just denied it placidly. You know, the way people _do_ when they're under Veritaserum. And we tried asking lots of little questions in the general region of the subject – you know, when was the last time she opened that hidey-hole, what was she doing just before, that sort of thing – but she didn't say anything to contradict herself on the subject, so she didn't."

"She didn't tell us anything else she shouldn't have, either," said Cornworthy glumly. "Said she'd never been to the Transfigured Toad in her life and neither had Portia, didn't know a thing about the owl sent from the World Cup with those chocolates. She even refused to throw the blame on her cousins, because she said they wouldn't do something like that, and neither of them would have the nerve or the planning ability to bring it off anyway. In short, she claims to be as pure as a unicorn rider … well all right, maybe not _quite_ that pure … obviously … but you know what I mean."

"What are we going to do with her?" asked Tonks. "Will we have to let her go?" She had an uneasy feeling she knew what the answer was going to be.

"N … yes," said Cassius. He looked like a man who would have been gritting his teeth if he hadn't felt it undignified. "In fact, not only will we have to let her go, we'll have to let her go with an _apology_. I suppose that falls to me. I want her _watched_ when she leaves, though."

"Can we do that?" said Tonks. "Officially, I mean."

"Possibly not, but at the moment we can get away with it, I think," said Cassius, with a grim expression. "Donnacha, Arnold – add her to your watching list, but first you'd better go and process her. Let me know when she comes round from the Veritaserum, and I'll talk to her. Tonks – stay here, I still want a word with you."

Tonks nodded. The other two looked at her with a kind of sympathetic curiosity and left.

"What was it you wanted to know, Cassius?" she asked. She had a feeling she knew the answer to that question as well.

"I just want to know where we stand," he said quietly, confirming her suspicions. "I must admit, Tonks, I wasn't at all happy to find that your supposed Knockturn Alley contact was actually your _parents_ – or more precisely, I wasn't happy that you hadn't _told_ me about it. Why was that?"

"I couldn't, Cassius," she said unhappily. "I really couldn't. It would have got Dad into big trouble if Gringotts had found out. You _know_ what goblins are like. I promised I wouldn't tell anybody except Scrimgeour. I didn't like keeping it from you all, but … well, I promised. I'm sorry," she finished in a rather small voice.

"I see. Well … I don't suppose I can _really_ argue with that." Cassius seemed thoughtful. "After all, I should know by now that sometimes you have to keep things to yourself, shouldn't I? It's just that … I never suspected what the true situation was until your mother called you yesterday." He shrugged. "I suppose, if I'm being honest with myself, that I _underestimated_ you, Tonks. As you said, sometimes it's easy to see you laughing and joking, and overlook the fact that you _do_ take things seriously. Perhaps I need to remind myself occasionally just how far you've come in a few months."

"Thanks, Cassius!" said Tonks, feeling oddly embarrassed, but also rather pleased.

"Don't mention it. You're surprisingly good at keeping personal secrets from people for someone who's usually so open, young lady. Perhaps I should be watching and taking notes." His smile took the sting from the words.

_Oops. It's a good job you don't know about Shacklebolt then._ Tonks kept her face straight, although it took a certain amount of effort; but then she _was_ getting used to it by now. The idea of telling Cassius what she'd learnt crossed her mind briefly, but she rejected it almost immediately. "Well, I only charge a Galleon an hour for lessons, mate," she said with a grin to cover herself.

"Ah well, too much for a poor old man like me," said Cassius, smiling back at her. "Look, Tonks, given the situation – and the results – I'm not going to complain about you keeping me in the dark. Just remember that it's not usually a good idea to have little private arrangements your colleagues don't know about. I assume your parents won't want to be mentioned in the case report?"

"Not if we can avoid it … the goblins won't insist on the details, will they?"

"I doubt it. Knowing them, they won't ask too many questions about exactly _how_ we caught Lewis, as long as we've put a stop to his activities. I think your father's job is safe enough. Do give him my _heartfelt_ thanks for his help, won't you?"

"Yeah, of course I will," said Tonks, pleased. "I was going to see Mum and Dad this evening, actually, I'll tell them."

"Excellent. Remember me to your mother too – I think I met her once or twice, back when she was even younger than you are!" He checked his watch and made a face. "In fact, you might as well toddle off and see her now, because we're not going to get any further this late in the afternoon, and I've got to go and _humbly apologise_ to Charlotte Perks for the way we cruelly and unreasonably suspected her on the basis of rock-solid evidence."

"Where do we take it from here?" asked Tonks, making a face of her own.

Cassius shrugged. "We hope that Donnacha and Arnold can find something. I don't _like_ it, but she's passed the Veritaserum test, so there's nothing we can do for the moment. In the meantime, we'll just have to chase down the other leads we have. Barry Lewis has given us plenty to check out, I want a little word with this Wells chap when he gets back from his holiday, and I suppose we still ought to take a look at Mr Arkwright and find out why he's buying cages from Mackenzie Ashford again. It's a loose end, and I don't like leaving loose ends dangling in case they turn out to be important. And if your friend from the World Cup _can_ arrange for us to go and have a look incognito, it would be a shame not to, wouldn't it?"

"I'll ask him again," promised Tonks as she got up, conscious of having let that possibility slip a long way down her list of priorities.

"Good" He looked up at her. "Tonks?"

"Yeah?"

He broke into a smile again, one she returned with a grin. "Well done."

The grin remained on her face all the way down into the Ministry foyer, and even as far as her Apparition to the safe arrival point in her parents' home, as Tonks thought with pleasure of the congratulations she could pass on. Then she pursed her lips and sobered slightly.

Because she had other reasons for wanting to have a good long talk with her mother, reasons that were among the many things she _hadn't_ told Cassius. The discussion she wanted to have – _needed_ to have – with her had been put off for far too long.

Thirteen years too long.

-----

"Hi, Mum!"

"Nymphadora?" Andromeda Tonks glanced up from the book she was reading as her daughter walked into the lounge, smiling at her. If her mother noticed that the smile wasn't entirely natural, she didn't let on. "I _thought_ it was early for Ted to be back yet. Come here, darling."

She sprang up and embraced her daughter with affection; Tonks eventually managed to detach herself and take a seat. "Fifi LaFolle again?" she said, glancing at the book her mother had left on the table, this time with a completely unforced grin. "Mum! Honestly, if anyone knew you read that stuff, they'd never let you live it down."

"I don't care if they do," said Andromeda trenchantly. "I _like_ it, it's escapist fun, and I notice you haven't returned my copy of _The Heart's Plenty_ yet."

"Oops. Forgot about that. I'll owl it back to you as soon as I get home." _Before someone sees it and gets the wrong idea. _"It's not really my thing."

"Hmm. I'm not sure about that. You aren't getting … sentimental about that new young man of yours, are you Nymphadora? You haven't brought him round to see us."

_Well, we've only been going out a few weeks, I don't want to scare the poor bugger off _just_ yet …_ "No, I'm not getting sentimental! I've been busy at work, as you know. I wanted to talk to you about that, actually."

"Good." Andromeda gave her daughter a very amused look. "I was wondering when you were going to get round to telling me what actually _happened_ after you and the goblin in the picture left."

"Give me a _chance_, Mum," said Tonks in an injured tone. "We didn't make the arrest till the early hours of this morning …" She quickly outlined the previous day's sequence of events for the benefit of her mother, ending by saying, "Oh, and Cassius Smethwyck sends you his regards and his thanks. Said he met you years ago – you said you knew him, didn't you?"

"Rather vaguely, dear." Her brows crinkled as she tried to remember. "I can recall him as friendly enough, but I wouldn't have seen him very often. After all, he didn't exactly make a very popular marriage as far as my family was concerned." She laughed. "Of course, neither did _I_ when you come right down to it, darling, so I'm hardly going to obsess about bloodlines the way Mother and Father did – let alone your great-aunt. I left all that behind a long time ago."

Tonks pricked up her ears at this unexpected reminiscence, and realised, on brief consideration, that she was most unlikely to get a better cue for what she really wanted to discuss.

"Actually, Mum, I wanted to talk to you about that …" she began.

Andromeda's eyebrows shot up. "Nymphadora! How serious _are_ things with this young man of yours?"

"What? No, not that!" said Tonks, reddening slightly. "I didn't want to talk about that!"

"Well, darling, what _did_ you want to talk about then?" asked her mother in a mystified tone.

"I wanted to …" Tonks stopped, took a deep breath, carefully avoided looking directly at her mother, and spoke as calmly as she could. "Actually, Mum, I wanted … to ask you about … um, about Uncle Sirius."

After a few seconds of complete silence from the other chair, she couldn't help but look round. Her mother was sitting there frozen, not blinking, barely even seeming to breathe.

"Mum?" she said uncertainly, then started as her mother abruptly jumped up from the chair and strode out into the kitchen. Tonks followed her slowly and with a certain amount of trepidation. That reaction didn't bode well.

She stopped in the doorway; her mother was by the window, staring out at the garden; there was the slightest hint of a tremble in her shoulders but otherwise she was standing perfectly still. She didn't even acknowledge the noise of Tonks' slight trip on the rug as she reached the door.

"Mum?" she said again. When she didn't get a reaction, she opened her mouth again. "Er, Mu –"

"I knew you'd ask." Her mother hadn't turned around, but her comment, spoken so quietly it took Tonks a moment to register it, silenced her daughter as effectively as a shout. "I thought you'd want to talk when he escaped … but you didn't ask then, and I counted myself lucky." She still didn't turn. "Then when they … they –" she swallowed, hard "– when they saw him near here, I knew you'd _have_ to ask because of your job. I just wasn't expecting you to ask _right now_. Silly me. I suppose I should have."

Tonks caught her breath. She was very much feeling her way; it was, after all, a subject that had been a Hippogriff in the corner of the room for thirteen years. "I didn't _have_ to, Mum," she said gently. "I _wanted_ to. I … well, _I_ need to know. For _me_. Not for the Department."

"You obviously already know what he did." It was a statement, not a question. "When _did_ you first learn, Nymphadora? Surely not from the newspapers this year? In your training? Gossip at school? Or did you ignore our advice when it happened and look at the newspaper _then_?"

"Yeah, I did look at the paper when it happened," said Tonks steadily. She refused to apologise for that. "And I cried like mad. But I'd have found out anyway. You know what school's like."

"I suppose I do."

Tonks approached her mother cautiously. "I want to hear what _you_ thought, Mum. I never knew at the time, it was clear you didn't want to talk about it." She hesitated. "_And_ it was clear – even to me as a kid – that it _hurt_ you. Somewhere deep. Every time someone mentioned anything anywhere near the subject, you'd tense up. I suppose I just got used to not thinking about it for years."

"And now?"

"And now I know …" She stopped herself in time; the details she knew from Kingsley could wait for the telling, and very possibly should not be told. "I know _I_ want to know about it. It's _time_ for us to talk about it, Mum. Please …"

Tonks reached out, intending to put an arm around her mother, and was startled when she abruptly turned round to face her. Her face was pale, but had a set, grim expression. "Very well," she said. "Yes, Nymphadora, it did hurt me. It hurt me _then_ and it hurts me _now_. You couldn't know how or why it hurts so much, you were too young to know and I made _damn_ sure you weren't raised the same way as I was. But you're right. It's time we had a talk."

She strode back into her lounge with her head held high and sat down on one end of the sofa, gesturing to a following Tonks to sit at the other end.

"So what do you want to ask?" she said abruptly.

Just as with Kingsley, Tonks found herself with so many questions now she had an opportunity to ask she didn't know which to ask first. "Everything, Mum," she said gently. "Everything you want to tell me, anyway. Just … just _make_ me understand why it hurts you so much."

Andromeda smiled grimly. "I'm not sure you _can_ understand without being brought up the way I was. Without knowing what things were _like_ then."

"Try me, why don't you? I'm not _eleven_ any more, Mum. I'm a grown woman. I'm an _Auror_, for heaven's sake!"

"Yes, that's true," she answered slowly. "I forget sometimes, darling. Or rather I'd _like_ to forget, because it scares me that my only child is doing what she's doing at such risk …"

"We've been over that a million times, Mum …"

"I know. And I've managed to handle it. Give me a chance, darling … God knows I'm proud of you for doing this, for _wanting_ to do this. You always were one to throw yourself into fights. Very like … him."

Tonks stilled. "Uncle Sirius?"

"Yes."

"Tell me what he was like, Mum," she said softly. "Tell me what he was _really_ like, to a grown-up. Tell me what _you_ thought of him."

Andromeda leant back in her chair and gazed into the distance. "I never really thought much about bloodlines when I was a young child," she said, apparently unaware that her comment seemed like a complete _non sequitur_. "There was just family, and people we approved of, and people we didn't, and I never even bothered to wonder why. So when I left home for school, I made friends with all sorts of people, without really thinking about who they were or where they came from, and it took me a while to realise _why_ some people in my house – and out of it – were giving me funny looks from time to time. I mean, it's an old, old story, isn't it? Oh, _now_ I know how these things work, as an adult, but _then_ it was a real surprise to me."

"You knew the pure-blood stuff was stupid even then, though," said Tonks; pleased with her mother's answer, even if she wasn't quite sure how it related to Sirius Black.

"Do you know, I'm not sure I did?" said Andromeda. "I probably thought it was a _good_ idea on the whole, I just didn't think it was important enough to be worth making such a _fuss_ about. Your grandparents didn't like that at all. Neither did –" she took a deep breath "– your aunt Bella. It sounds dreadful to say this, but in some ways I'm almost glad that she was such a stickler on the subject? We were so close in age that we couldn't help being rivals, and I always used to go against whatever it was _she_ wanted."

"That was _all_?" said Tonks, shocked.

"No, it wasn't _all_," snapped Andromeda, visibly composing herself. "Give me _some_ credit, Nymphadora! It wasn't easy to shake off that kind of upbringing. Or even to want to, really, not until I had reason to decide one way or the other."

"Sorry, Mum," said Tonks quietly, abashed. "What made your mind up then?"

Andromeda laughed. "What do you _think?_ I got to know your father, of course. And, well, we fell in love – but teenagers do that all the time, don't they? Nothing out of the ordinary, we didn't know how long it would last. But fairly soon, I realised I had to decide if I loved him _enough_. Whether I had the decency and the _guts_ to stand up in front of all the people I knew and tell them I didn't care and they could go to hell if they didn't like who I was with." She paused for a moment, with an odd look that held a little defiance, a little nervousness, and a touch of pride. "I'm glad to say I found out I did. We went away, we got married, we had _you_, darling, and don't you ever, _ever_ think I regret it. I didn't realise just how stultifying it had been at home until I left it."

"How did Granny and Granddad Black take it? They never seemed that fond of me."

Her mother snorted. "Your grandparents? They completely disapproved, what did you expect? They were usually tight-lipped whenever they had to talk to me after that, and they almost never managed a civil word for your father if they spoke to him at all. I didn't _like_ things being like that, but we all made our own choices, so …" She smiled broadly. "I remember Mummy and Daddy telling me, in tones of hushed horror, that I'd actually been _struck off the family tapestry_ by Aunt Walburga. Frankly, that was the least of my concerns."

"_What_ family tapestry?"

"Mm? Oh, it's in the house in Grimmauld Place, the one they've never let you or Ted visit. Believe me, darling, you haven't missed much. It took up one whole wall – Blacks going back centuries, _generations_ of us. I'm certain they wouldn't have missed little me. Or Siri …" She paused. "Well, I suppose she might have put _him_ back again."

Tonks pricked up her ears at the sound of the conversation returning to where she wanted it to be. "Uncle Sirius was struck off this thing too? Why?"

"That's what I've been trying to _tell_ you, darling," said Andromeda, clucking her tongue in slight irritation. She paused, obviously needing to steel herself. "At the time, he was just about the only member of the family anywhere near my age who didn't seem to care much about the Precious Black Name, or the crucial significance of having pure blood. We didn't _see_ each other that often, but it felt nice to know I had an ally around. He felt the same way. Well, I thought he did."

"And then …?"

"And then … oh come on, darling, what do you think?" She scowled. "We heard the news that You-Know-Who had suddenly disappeared, completely out of the blue; and after the first celebrations I just felt giddy with relief, knowing that the people I cared about weren't in danger from him any more. And _yes_, that included Sirius. I was sure he was involved in the fight in some way. Then I realised it had been his friends who were killed in the attack, and I felt sad. I wanted to find my poor little cousin and _comfort_ him." She spat out the word 'comfort' as if it had been an expletive. "And _then_, we heard the next day about what he'd done and that poor young man who found him, and all those Muggles he'd killed for no reason …"

"And _then_ …" Tonks repeated as her mother trailed off.

Andromeda grimaced. "And then, Ted tells me I went hysterical for several hours … oh yes, Nymphadora, I've talked about it with your _father_," she said, lips twitching faintly at her daughter's surprise. "Though not until recently, I admit. I felt so betrayed I simply blanked it out – blanked _him_ out – and got on with my life. I decided I had all the family I wanted right here with me." She hesitated. "I trusted him, darling," she said simply. "I would have trusted him with my life. Worse, I'd have trusted him with _your_ life. I couldn't bear the thought of having been so wrong about something so important."

"I never quite thought about it that way," said Tonks in realisation.

"How did you think about him, Nymphadora?" Her mother's reluctance to discuss the subject seemed to be breaking down as she talked, and Tonks detected almost a hint of eagerness in her now. "I never knew how much of an impression he made on you, because you barely knew him."

"I _didn't?_" said Tonks in surprise. "The way I remember it, he seemed to visit us a _lot_."

Andromeda smiled wryly. "Well then, he must have made quite a _big_ impression! You'd only have met him what, once a year or so?" Tonks felt her jaw drop and saw her mother's smile change into curiosity. "What _was_ he like to a child? Could you tell? Or did you like him?"

Tonks sat back on her half of the sofa. "I did, actually. He was this –" she bit her lip "– oh I don't know, Mum, this sort of really cool uncle, who teased me a bit and I couldn't help but like him. I suppose it registered deep down that he didn't seem to mind what we were … but mostly he was just … well … _fun_." She sat back, trying to analyse long-ago feelings. "I felt like we all had this special secret we shared? He was here and _his_ mum and dad wouldn't like it, but he still came to see us anyway without telling them. It felt … cool," she finished limply. She hadn't realised until she began talking just how vague her recollections of her cousin really were after all these years; impressions more than memories, a tall man with the Black family dark hair who played with her and joked with her mother and seemed happy to meet them.

"Yes, he was," said her mother sadly. "He'd left home by then, didn't you realise?"

"He had?" Tonks blinked. "Why didn't he come to stay?"

"Oh, he had … his own friends, darling. A very tight little group, as far as I could tell. But you must know what happened to them by now – probably better than me, if you've looked in the _case files_." There was a tinge of bitterness there at the thought, it seemed, and Tonks realised that she would probably have to tell her mother a little of what she knew, even if only to conceal the rest.

"Yeah, I have," she said in a confessional tone. "The reports I saw said they were all supposed to be like brothers, and no-one who knew them could quite believe what happened." She hesitated. "What did _you_ make of them, Mum?"

"I didn't really _know_ them," she replied, to Tonks' disappointment. "I vaguely remember them being with him at school, but of course he was years below me and in a different House so we didn't mix that much. He only ever brought them round here once, and that was –" she paused for a moment and continued with a catch in her voice "– the last time I saw him before … it happened. The way he used to talk about them, they _were_ closer than his own brother. He always spoke about poor little Regulus with such contempt!"

"Yeah? Was he the one I never met? The one who became a Death Eater?"

Andromeda winced. "Yes. Foolish boy. Sirius hated that – well, he pretended to. That must have been _another_ lie, I suppose. For all I know, he got him into it." She shrugged helplessly. "But his friends – I mean, I never even knew one of them was a _werewolf_ until I read it in the _Prophet_ back in June. It seemed like _just_ the sort of thing he'd have done, making friends with one to spite his parents." She looked at her daughter shrewdly. "I see he was teaching at Hogwarts while Sirius was … well, doing what he did there. Is there anything _you_ know about it that didn't make the papers?"

_More than you think …_ Her mother had asked her question in an even tone of voice, but Tonks thought she could detect an underlying hint of pain at the idea that Uncle Sirius had been trying to commit yet _another_ murder. She briefly considered how much she _could_ tell, and decided on a rather oblique approach; bracing herself for the likely impact of her words.

"Lupin? Yes there is … Did you know he's convinced Uncle Sirius is innocent?"

The look of mixed shock and indignation on Andromeda's face was entirely as expected. "_Innocent?_" she spluttered. "How can he be _innocent?_ There were dozens of witnesses!"

"Yes, but …" Tonks briefly outlined the story that Lupin had told about Uncle Sirius, Pettigrew, the Shrieking Shack and the children; and if she added to it a few details that came from Kingsley's private information, she wasn't going to worry too much about _that_. Her mother listened to it with a gradually dropping jaw. "All this is in confidence, Mum – like you said, it didn't make the papers – but well, that was the story. What do you reckon?"

"I … I … I don't … I don't _know_." Her mother looked absolutely stunned. "You can't tell me your colleagues _believe_ that, surely? How can anyone trust this Lupin, knowing what he _is_, knowing that he kept it all _hidden_?"

_There's more to it than that, Mum, more people who think he might be innocent, but I really, _really _can't tell you about that … _"It does kind of fit the background," she said cautiously. "Old Snape – you remember, he taught me? – confirms part of it. And the kids _survived_ it, Mum. If he'd really spent a year trying to kill Harry Potter, why didn't he just finish him off when he had him at wandpoint?" The next revelation was treading on very thin ice, but had to be said. "One or two Aurors are at least considering the possibility it might be the truth, even if they're not convinced. It would be the professional thing to do, wouldn't it?" Although that was literally true, she wasn't going to mention that she and Kingsley were those 'one or two Aurors', and that while it _would_ be the professional thing to do, their investigations on the matter were entirely private.

"And you …"

"I'm not sure, but I can't _not_ consider the possibility, can I?" Her voice had risen more than she'd intended, and she had to force herself to speak more calmly. "That's why I've been wanting to talk to you, Mum. It's just never … _felt_ right from what little I can remember of him. Because … I suppose I trusted him too, Mum," she finished plaintively.

"I … I …"

She wasn't sure how long it might have taken her mother to recover the power of speech as expressions chased themselves across her face – the first shock clearly giving way first to an odd hopefulness, then what was clearly anger at thinking in that way – but they were interrupted by a sudden _crack_ from outside.

Tonks glanced up to see her father walking through the door. He looked at his white-faced wife and nervous daughter in some surprise. "Annie?" he said uncertainly. "Princess? What's up?"

"Oh, nothing really, Dad," said Tonks in a strained voice. "We were just talking about … erm, my Uncle Sirius."

"_Oh._" There was a world of dawning comprehension in that single syllable. He moved over to the sofa to sit between his wife and daughter and put an arm around each, drawing them into a hug and making both smile. "Good or bad moment for me to walk in?"

"Not _too_ bad, Dad," Tonks told him. "We had rather a lot to say."

"I can't say I'm not pleased to hear that," he said quietly, turning to his wife. "I _know_ it's been cutting you up all year, Annie. I just didn't quite know what to say to you."

"Of course you didn't, Ted," she said, with a tentative smile. "You're a _man_."

"Hey, that's enough cheek," he said, returning the smile and kissing her lightly on the forehead. "Did you hear what you wanted to hear or not?"

Mother and daughter exchanged looks. "_You_ tell him, darling," said Andromeda.


	20. I Can't Stand Up For Falling Down

**19. I Can't Stand Up For Falling Down**

_Friday 25__th__ September 1994_

Tonks found herself waking early the following morning and arriving at work early as a result, and decided to use this as extra thinking time. Her father had been as shocked as her mother to hear what she had to say about her cousin – a man he'd known casually, but never felt as close to as his wife or daughter. But after an evening of explanations, tears, reminiscences and many things said that had previously been left unspoken, in the course of which Tonks had been over the material she was able to tell them many times, she found to her unease that she herself was half-convinced that the story she'd been told really _might_ be the truth. There were certainly holes in the official story big enough to drive the Knight Bus through, and that wasn't even taking into account what Kingsley had told her.

She couldn't shake off the feeling that she should really _do_ something about it, and was thoroughly grateful for the case work they had on hand. She needed it to keep from getting into real trouble.

Her parents had reluctantly agreed to let her handle it. She thought most of this was because they wanted to investigate as much as she did – although she suspected that part of it was that they still found it hard to realise their daughter was now a grown woman, able to take responsibility for handling such things on behalf of the family. _One_ of these days, it was going to sink in.

"Knut for your thoughts?"

She glanced up. Cassius was looking at her in enquiry. "Nah, they're not worth the money," she said quickly. "What's the agenda for today, mate?"

"Well, your thoughts have been quite valuable so far," he said mildly. "In fact, I might even go as high as a couple of Sickles for them if you have any good ideas on where we go from here."

"I wish I did," she told him. "How did it go with Charlotte Perks?"

"Oh, not as bad as it might have done," he said with a grin. "She was in high dudgeon, of course, and I had to endure a strident little lecture on 'unreasonable suspicions' and 'violation of the Wizengamot Charter of Rights'. So I suggested that she was perfectly entitled to bring a complaint, and have the case heard publicly so that Portia could tell everyone they had an alibi. At that point it seemed to dawn on her that it might not be a good idea to press the matter after all." He smiled beatifically. "So she accepted a humble apology for detaining her these last couple of weeks, and went on her way. I'm _so_ glad to have helped."

Tonks grinned back at him. "Nice one, Cassius. So that's one curse we've dodged, then." The grin faded as she thought about the situation. "Do you think she _was_ really telling the truth?"

"Under Veritaserum? I find it hard to believe … but I can't really find a good alternative as yet. There are ways around it, as you know, but none of them are _easy_, even for a strong-willed individual such as her, and there's no _evidence_ that she used them." He shrugged. "The first thing we need to do is to check on the other people who were supposed to have been with them at that Paris dinner. I doubt we'll get to them before Charlotte does, though, and we won't be able to test _their_ evidence under Veritaserum."

"_Could_ someone have been impersonating Portia? Or _Charlotte_, maybe? A kind of triple bluff? They'd be in a good position to arrange it …"

"I did think of that – but they were with Charlotte's friends, who would know her. And they'd need a third person, yes?"

"Cousin Abby, perhaps?"

"But she _also_ has an alibi – as does Mickey, they were both at the Celestina Warbeck concert, remember? With lots of witnesses."

"Oh yeah. Bugger."

Cassius gave a crestfallen Tonks a wry smile. "Sometimes, everything you assumed about a case is simply wrong, and you have to start again from scratch. Then again, of course, sometimes you _were_ right all along, and it's hard to tell which is which. Another lesson for you to learn," he concluded.

Tonks winced. _You're not kidding. I'm learning _that _one well._

"Anyway, Donnacha and Arnold are out keeping an eye on Charlotte and Portia," continued Cassius, unaware that his words held a double meaning for Tonks. "Much good may it do us, but you never know. The worst thing about this is that we've probably lost our chance to get a warrant for Portia now, but I'll ask. Then I'll go over the statements again and see if there's anything we missed."

"What would you like me to do?" asked Tonks, hoping it might be something a little more interesting than paperwork.

Cassius seemed to pick up on this. "I do have a couple of errands for you, actually," he said. "First of all, I'd like you to go and see that friend of yours from the World Cup who's in Magical Creatures, and see when he can arrange for us to visit that Arkwright chap incognito. I can't see why he'd be friendly with Ashford again all of a sudden and buying cages from him – it's a loose end to tie up, and it's one of the few we've _got_ at the moment."

"Fair enough. He seemed to think he could swing it. They do snap inspections of the place every now and again anyway."

"Good. After that, you can drop in at International Magical Co-operation and chase them up about the records of people travelling to and from the Caribbean. I'm tired of sending them memos to be ignored. It might be easier to get some action from them on the subject now, there's been a report that …" He broke off suddenly, and looked quite embarrassed.

"A report that _what?_" she asked, puzzled.

"Well, erm, a report that Sirius Black had been seen out there a little while ago," he said apologetically. "A fairly convincing one this time, in point of fact, from someone who actually knew him as a young man. I'm sorry, Tonks, I _know_ it's a sore point with you, but it really is a useful bit of leverage and I need you to be able to deal with it. If You-Know-Who's former right-hand man had any connection with this trade, that would _not_ be a situation I would like."

She groaned inwardly. "That's OK, Cassius. Leave it to me."

-----

Tonks poked her head around the door of the outer office of the Department of International Magical Co-operation and surveyed the room with open curiosity. It was smaller than she'd expected it to be, and at the moment seemed almost deserted. She glanced at her watch, which read half-past twelve, so it seemed a reasonable assumption that everyone had gone for lunch.

The only person still at their desk was a young red-haired man she vaguely remembered as having accompanied Barty Crouch to the World Cup briefing. He had a sandwich in one hand and was scribbling rapid notes on a piece of parchment with the other; but he looked up as she entered.

"Hi!" she said brightly. "I think I've seen you before, you're Mr Weatherby, aren't you?"

"Percy _Weasley_, actually," he said stiffly. "Junior Assistant Head of Department. How may I help you?"

"Oh sorry, must have remembered wrong. Oh, hang on a minute, Weasley … you must be related to Arthur Weasley, works down the hall from us?"

"That's my father," he said, unbending enough to nod. "Erm – just where _is_ it you work, Miss …"

"Tonks. Auror office. I've seen your dad pass through quite a lot."

"Tonks? Oh I remember …" There was the merest suggestion of a twitch at the side of his mouth, which he hastily suppressed. "Of course, we in the Department of International Magical Co-operation are always willing to assist the Auror Office in any way we can. Whom did you wish to see?"

"Mr Crouch, please. Is he in?"

Percy Weasley clucked his tongue, and – to her surprise – seemed slightly uneasy. "Yes, but he is a _very_ busy man, Miss Tonks. Is this matter important for the prevention of crime?"

"We think so. We've had credible reports that Sirius Black –" she managed to say the name with barely any need to steel herself "– has been seen in the Caribbean, and we know other parties have been travelling there to pick up dodgy potions, but whatever the equivalent of the Ministry is out there haven't got round to making the travel records available to us yet. We really need someone from your office to use a bit of clout and tell them to get their fingers out, and it would be best if it came from Crouch himself, wouldn't it? I think Cassius Smethwyck has sent memos round about it."

"Oh, I see. Yes, I remember those." He couldn't restrain a wince at the way Tonks had described the Aurors' requirements. "In that case, I suppose …" He rose and escorted her over to a mahogany door at the end of the room. "I don't wish to overburden Mr Crouch, he really does have a lot on his plate, Miss Tonks, but this is such a simple matter he can probably arrange it for you …" He still looked unhappy, but his knock on the door was firm enough.

"Yes?" came an irritable voice from within. Tonks swallowed, remembering their previous encounters, and decided to concentrate very hard on not tripping over anything.

"Percy Weasley, sir," said her companion eagerly. "There's a Miss Tonks here to see you from the Auror Office."

"What does _she_ want?" The voice this time was unmistakably edgy..

"It's about that request for liaison with the Caribbean authorities …"

"Oh I see. Send her in."

Percy opened the door and ushered Tonks in, then stepped back out of the room with a bow that looked unnecessarily formal. Crouch nodded to her; fortunately, he didn't seem to recognise her, and she breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr Crouch," she said hastily. "It's rather urgent, what with the Sirius Black situation –" she was getting used to saying that by now "– and the Death Eaters and everything." Crouch sat back as she gave a quick run-through of the situation; he barely reacted to what she was saying, and she had an odd feeling that he wasn't really listening, but he did nod once at the end.

"Yes. Very well. I'll get young Westoby out there – no, Weatherby, no … ah … what was I saying again?"

"Er – young Weasley, your Junior Assistant Head of Department?" she said, feeling slightly alarmed.

"Junior Assistant _to_ the Head of Department," he said with a touch of asperity. "Oh yes, yes … I'll get him to draft a memo for me to sign, will that be sufficient?"

"Yes, sir. Of course."

"Very well." He waved her away. "I'll send it round. Good day to you, Miss Tomkins."

"Ton … er, yes, Mr Crouch. Thank you." A sudden thought hit her on the way out and she turned back to face him. She wasn't likely to get another opportunity to ask. "Um, Mr Crouch …"

"_Yes?_"

She bit her lip. "Just wondering … we were talking about Sirius Black … weren't you the one who signed the Emergency Powers Azkaban warrant for him? Definitely guilty?" At the stony expression on his face, she added quickly, "Couldn't have been under You-Know-Who's control or anything, then?"

Crouch gave a peculiar little start, and snapped at her, "No he wasn't! I had no hesitation in signing that warrant on the evidence, and as far as I'm concerned Sirius Black was not only as guilty as they come but acted like it, whatever story he told. Is that _all?_"

"Yes sir," she said, mildly abashed. It had been a long shot and she couldn't really hope for more. Clearly not everyone was going to be convinced by any new evidence there might be. "Thanks for the memo."

She stopped by Percy Weasley's desk on the way out to tell him what Crouch had agreed to (as she had a nasty suspicion that his boss might forget if she didn't). He nodded and started to jot down notes immediately.

"Thanks," she said. "Erm – Mr Weasley?"

"Yes?" He looked up.

"Old Crouch – is he, well – all _right_?"

"Mr Crouch? All _right_? He is a brilliant man who is doing an excellent job as Head of this Department in very trying times!" he said indignantly. At her raised eyebrows, he added, "But he is a bit under strain, yes. The unfortunate events at the World Cup – after all our preparations – hit him rather hard, and –" he dropped his voice "– he was even forced to dismiss his house-elf for gross disobedience, so he doesn't even have her to help him out at home now. I keep telling him he should let me do more of the work."

Tonks suppressed a grin. _I bet you do._ "Oh well, never mind," she said, winking at Percy. "As long as he stays upright long enough to sign that memo, we won't object if he takes a bit of time off."

She noticed the redhead's scandalised expression and made a hasty exit before she started to giggle.

-----

"How did it go?" asked Cassius when she returned to the office.

"Sorted," said Tonks. "IMC are going to chase them up in the Caribbean."

"Good. No trouble?"

"Not really, but …" She described the interview with Crouch, hesitating slightly before mentioning her impression of him. "He did look a bit _odd_, you know. A bit like … well, like that Barton bloke who was under Jacmel, to be honest."

"_Barty Crouch?_" said Cassius in surprise. "I sincerely hope not! It would need something very powerful to affect _him_, I'd have thought."

"His assistant _did_ say he was under a lot of strain …"

"That's probably all there is to it then. I'll make a few discreet inquiries just in case, though. How did it go in Magical Creatures?

"Yeah, that was OK too. Will Poppleford said he can probably fix something up round about the end of next week. Sound all right to you?"

"Yes. Well, it's a start anyway." He looked at the piles of parchment on his desk and his lips quirked. "But that's days away, so guess what I want you to do now?"

"Paperwork?" asked Tonks with a sinking feeling.

"Yes indeed. You take one set of interview notes, I'll take another, let's see if we can work through the lot before the day's out."

"Interviewing the Paris dinner witnesses?" suggested Tonks hopefully.

"They live in France, so we need to get permission from their Ministry beforehand. So, first things first."

She picked up the sheaf that Cassius handed her and groaned. _There had better be _something_ worth remembering in here_, she thought as she started on the first one.

-----

_Friday 2__nd__ October 1994_

Unfortunately, Tonks' estimate of how long it would take to arrange a visit to Arkwright was off by a week. This did give them the time they needed to get permission for the visit to France – and an ideal excuse for an afternoon's tourism and overnight stay in Paris – but when the other people at the dinner party were interviewed, they told exactly the same story as before, except that they now agreed that Charlotte had brought along her charming girlfriend. Cassius conducted some discreet enquiries into their _bona fides_, but all seemed to be merely casual research acquaintances of Charlotte who had consented, with Gallic discretion, to avoid mentioning the relationship unless specifically asked.

It also gave them the opportunity to review the information on hand several times over, and to work on Barry Lewis, but to little effect. Tonks felt that by now she must have every tiny piece of information in the case notes memorised. On that glorious Thursday lunchtime when they'd had not one but _two_ major suspects ready for interrogation, a solution to the whole case had seemed well within their grasp. But Charlotte Perks' alibi had wiped the smiles from their faces; and although catching the Gringotts robber had been a real result that earned brusque praise from Scrimgeour, it hadn't yet led anywhere further.

The solution seemed to have slipped through their fingers again.

O'Gregan and Cornworthy had maintained their watch on both Portia Blackstock and Charlotte Perks – given the history of the two murder attempts, none of the team could quite bring themselves to believe that the relationship between the two women was pure coincidence unconnected with the case – but if they had met during that time other than at the charity offices, the Aurors had been unable to observe them doing so.

The Irishman reported gloomily that although Portia seemed a little nervous, Charlotte seemed to be playing it cool. "Everyone falling over themselves where she worked to tell her they'd always known she was innocent, so they were," he said with a snort. "As if. I don't think they fooled her for a minute. Good head on her shoulders, that one, unfortunately." Tonks nodded politely. Chesney Thompson had been pleased to hear his old friend had passed the Veritaserum test, and she supposed she really might have paid more attention to his warnings.

Lewis the robber had been eager to tell them everything he could in the hope of a mitigation of sentence (especially after spending his first few nights in Azkaban), but in his case 'everything' didn't amount to much. Although the Veritaserum warrant was quickly granted, he told much the same story as before under Truth Potion (even repeating his claim to have done it partly because he was scared by renewed Death Eater activity). He had, it seemed, been playing a lone hand.

They had at least been able to restore the bulk of the stolen money to its owners, and Ragnok had quietly let it be known that Gringotts were perfectly satisfied with this outcome. Tonks' father confirmed this statement privately for Tonks; he told her that it seemed to have mollified the goblins, who were currently otherwise unimpressed with the Ministry for some reason.

However, the arrest seemed to have warned off anyone who might want to trade Dark Arts reference works with Lore of Yore. Tonks spent an afternoon checking the spells on the books, but as far as she could see there was nothing new in stock, and definitely nothing relating to poisons or unusual potions. The sole exception to this trend was Alexander Burke, who had made a few more purchases; but as Cassius pointed out regretfully, that was hardly unexpected news.

"No?" said Tonks, frustrated. "_He_ could be the one selling them on, couldn't he?"

"Not to people like _Lewis_," replied Cassius, shaking his head vigorously. "Borgin and Burkes are the high end of the market. Anything he buys from Miss Orevel is probably sold under the counter to a selected customer at a minimum of five times his purchase price. And if you think we might find out from him who's buying – well all I can say is, the best of British luck to you if you want to try. We've never pinned anything on either of them yet, and technically these books are _legal_."

Tonks scowled. "I wonder if there's been a rash of obscure poison cases recently?" she asked curiously.

"Not in the last year. I checked."

Rhiannon Davies stuck her head round the partition unexpectedly, making both of them jump. "There _was_ that little blip a couple of years ago, Cassius."

"There was?" He sounded surprised. "Oh, of course, I wasn't around to hear about it, was I? What happened?"

She shrugged. "The rumour was that someone in Knockturn Alley had a consignment of rare material – poisons and Dark Arts books – but whoever had the stocks was being canny and we didn't find out much. Which probably means it _was_ Borgin and Burkes, look you. As far as we could tell they were sold on via an intermediary – which could well have been your 'Butler' suspect, whoever he really is. It fits the _modus operandi_, doesn't it? There were three or four cases of people having really odd stuff confiscated, but after that it settled down. Do you suppose it might take this long for books that were tucked away to start appearing again?"

"Sounds about the right sort of timescale," mused Cassius. "It would give the buyers time to make all the notes they wanted, then dispose of the actual books so they wouldn't incriminate them …"

"How long has Lore of Yore been in business?" asked Tonks. "Maybe people have only just realised that they could launder books through there?"

"About ten years," said Cassius. "I asked around and checked in the Muggle registries. Less than that as a wizard's shop, I think. It _is_ a possibility, though."

Rhiannon snorted. "Tell you what, _I'll_ keep an eye on it for you, Cassius. It might be nothing to do with my case, but at least I can do something useful. This is one supposed 'psychic' who is _definitely_ not Seeing anything at the moment."

-----

_Thursday 8__th__ October 1994_

It took Will Poppleford nearly a fortnight to arrange his inspection. By the time the day arrived, Tonks was looking forward to a trip to Arkwright's place just to break the monotony. "Where is your friend William meeting us?" asked Cassius as they made their way down to the foyer to Apparate.

"He said to meet him up there." An awkward idea struck her and she asked, "There aren't any Aurors working round there whose toes we'll be treading on, are there?"

Cassius shook his head. "Not really. The local contact is a chap called Benjamin Trill, and he won't mind, I'm sure. I used to work with him. Dapper little fellow. He was the one I thought they might assign when I asked for someone with Concealment and Disguise skills? He changes shape as well. Not that I'm not happy with what I got, of course," he added hastily.

Tonks looked at him in astonishment. "He's a Metamorphmagus _too?_"

"No, no, he's an _Animagus_," said Cassius, laughing. "Turns into a budgerigar. Very useful sometimes."

"Oh yes, of course," said Tonks as light dawned. "I remember Kingsley telling me the only registered flying Animagus was an Auror!" She felt like biting her tongue when she remembered _where_ he'd been when he said that, and why he'd mentioned it..

Cassius gave her a funny look. "He did? The two of you seem to be getting along much better these days, Tonks. What changed?"

"Oh, er, I thought I'd better bury the hatchet, you know?" said Tonks, inwardly cursing herself. She definitely didn't want to field too many questions on the subject. "I took him out for a drink and a chat, he's OK with me now. We were talking about changing shape and he mentioned this Trill bloke in passing. Not by name though." She paused to mentally pat herself on the back at her evasiveness.

"Oh I see. I'm glad to hear that, Tonks. Kingsley really is a sound chap." He snickered unexpectedly as the lift drew to a halt. "As it happened, Ben Trill said he was already undercover in a pub working on a case. It's a useful disguise for spying, but he does get a little carried away sometimes and starts doing very un-budgerigar-like things. At least you don't have that problem."

"Luckily. Ready to Apparate?" She breathed a silent sigh of relief that he hadn't asked more questions.

A few seconds later they appeared in a patch of trees on the outskirts of what looked like a small, old-fashioned farm. Tonks waved to Will Poppleford, who was waiting in the middle of a field.

"Hi, Will! Nice to see you again, mate. Are we all set?"

Poppleford looked pleased to see them. "Hi, Tonks! Morning, Mr Smethwyck. Not quite ready yet, I'm just waiting for Honoria to get here."

"Honoria? Who's she?" Tonks hadn't been aware that they would have company.

Poppleford suddenly seemed a little embarrassed. "From the office – she's the one who usually carries out these inspections. Amos insisted we actually do a proper check-up, even if it is just an excuse for you to have a look around. She's, um … well, you'll meet her soon enough." He looked up and began to scan the sky, not quite meeting their eyes.

"Are you expecting rain, old chap?" asked Cassius, puzzled.

"No, Honoria, she … erm, doesn't like Apparition much. She'll be flying here … got a fair way to come, all the way from Lincolnshire. Oh, there she is!"

Tonks eyes followed the direction of Will Poppleford's pointing finger and blinked. _That's one hell of a broom …_ "What's she's flying on, Will?"

"Feathermane."

"Feather – " As the dark shape in the sky came closer, it suddenly clicked. "A _Hippogriff?_ Blimey, I've never met anyone brave enough to fly long distance on one of those things before. Touchy sods, aren't they?"

Poppleford grinned. "Oh, they're fine if you treat them the right way, Tonks. Very loyal. Honoria raised him from a foal."

"My daughter Patricia always wanted one of those when she was a child," said Cassius reminiscently. "I never dared get her one, not to mention that we would have had nowhere to keep it in the middle of town – well, I know you're supposed to Disillusion them if you do, but I never really saw the _point_ of an invisible pet?"

"_She_ obviously hasn't," pointed out Tonks.

"Yes, well, if a Muggle pilot saw her flying past on Feathermane they'd never believe it anyway, would they?" said Poppleford, grinning. "And I don't suppose it would be any better if they couldn't _see_ what she was riding …"

"True enough," said Cassius, smiling back as the woman expertly brought the Hippogriff in to land. It stumbled slightly as it touched down.

"Morning, Honoria …" said Poppleford, walking towards her as she dismounted.

"MORNING, WILL!" Both Tonks and Cassius winced; Honoria Biggar had what could reasonably be described as a carrying voice. Even Poppleford grimaced a little.

"Steady on, Honoria," he said. "If Arkwright _has_ got anything nasty back there, we don't want to wake it up, do we?"

"Oh, sorry!" She spoke a little more quietly this time. Tonks supposed it would barely have been audible to someone in the next county. "What's your plan, Will?"

"Well, we've got to go through the formalities with Arkwright, then I thought while we do the inspection Tonks and Mr Smethwyck can have a quiet look round," he said hopefully.

"Right! You two – you're Aurors, aren't you? Any idea what you're even looking for?"

"Er, well …" began Tonks.

"No? Not surprised, really, you lot just drop in anywhere and hope for the best, don't you? OK, let's get a move on then!"

Arkwright had evidently heard them – _he could hardly avoid it_, thought Tonks wryly – and was waiting by the front gate of what looked like a modestly sized farmhouse. There was a look of complete scorn on his face as they traipsed over.

"_Four_ o' thee this time?" he asked in one of the broadest Yorkshire accents Tonks had ever heard. "Frit, are thee?"

Honoria Biggar opened her mouth but Poppleford hastily jumped in first. "No, Mr Arkwright, Miss Tonks here is a trainee, and Mr Smethwyck is …"

"Her supervisor," said Cassius with a smile. His eyes were flicking around the grounds with professional observance. "We just tagged along, you know, old chap?"

"Reet. Well, better come in, then, and get it over wi', then thee can all bugger off agen an' leave uz be." He turned and stalked back into the kitchen of the farmhouse. Tonks followed Cassius' lead in looking at everything around them. Unfortunately (although it was something she certainly wasn't going to admit to Honoria Biggar) she really didn't have any clear idea what to look for.

Will Poppleford read out a formal notice from his Department to the accompaniment of loud snorts from Arkwright. "Er, you must know the routine by now. You show us where you had your, er, zoo, and we make sure there's nothing there to worry us now?"

"Ne'er bin nowt thur since thee took 'em away, 'as thur?" said Arkwright pugnaciously. "And by t' way, 'adn't tha better see to that poor 'ippogriff fust?"

They all turned to look out the window at the magical creature in question. "Hang on a moment, Will!" cried Honoria; Tonks could have sworn that the windows rattled. "I'll be with you in a minute. Looks like the poor lad's got something caught in his hoof!" And indeed, the Hippogriff did still seem to be limping.

"Oh, I could fix that for you!" offered Tonks brightly, remembering a certain attachment in K's 'knife' gadget that she'd never thought she'd have a chance to use.

"You? Do you know much about Hippogriffs?"

Arkwright gave his loudest snort yet. "She works fur that useless bloody department and she don't even know owt about _'ippogriffs?_ By 'eck, Scrimshank or whatever tha name is, tha'll 'ave tha work cut out trainin' this 'un."

"I know enough," said Tonks, stung (and desperately trying to remember what Professor Kettleburn had told them about the creatures in fifth-year classes). "I've got a special tool we're issued for this sort of thing. We'll have your Hippogriff back … er, hippoing along in no time."

"I'll supervise her while she works," put in Cassius quickly, exchanging significant glances with Tonks. "You carry on, Honoria, William, Mr Arkwright. We'll catch you up …"

The three magical creature experts trooped off, with Arkwright making a number of sarcastic remarks, Honoria Biggar looking anxiously back over her shoulder at her Hippogriff, and Will Poppleford trying very hard to keep the peace. Tonks waited until they were out of earshot and turned to Cassius. "Were you just trying to get us a bit of space to look around?"

"Well, it seemed like a good opportunity," said Cassius judiciously. "I suppose we'd better actually deal with the Hippogriff first, though. Are you sure you can remember how to do it?"

"Yeah, no problem," said Tonks. "Just bow, wait, go and fix it up, isn't it?"

"I hope so," said Cassius, grinning. "This one should be well trained, anyway."

"Great. I never had one to look after when I was a kid. I don't suppose I ever will now."

They approached as closely as they dared and bowed low to Feathermane; who looked at them haughtily for a few moments before bowing back. Chuckling, Tonks approached him and stroked the feathers on the back of his neck.

"Who's a good boy, eh?" she said in a soothing voice. "Now we're just going to have a look at that hoof of yours. I'm sure it won't hurt, but try to keep still, OK?" In a muttered aside to Cassius she asked, "Do Hippogriffs actually _understand_ you?"

"I think they get the general idea," said Cassius, taking over the smoothing of feathers while Tonks approached the rear end where the two hooves were, not without a certain trepidation. "Fascinating creatures, really. My daughter used to rave about them. They were a cross between a griffin and a filly originally, it's thought. It was considered so unlikely that for a long time they were regarded as a symbol of impossible love, did you know?"

"Really? No, I didn't," said Tonks, gingerly taking the problem hoof in one hand and extracting K's gadget from the pocket of her robes. Personally, she didn't see what was all that romantic about a giant bird with a horse's arse, but given what she could remember about the general touchiness of the creatures, she definitely wasn't going to say so in Feathermane's hearing. She couldn't recall ever reading the instructions for the attachment (and suspected it was there purely for K's amusement); but when she tried touching it to the stone caught between the hoof and the shoe she was pleased to see it stick immediately.

Very carefully, she teased the stone out. "Got it!" she said triumphantly. "He should be OK now." She stood up and slapped Feathermane on the rump. "Go on, lad, have a run around the field!"

The Hippogriff bounded off happily, starting at an ungainly gallop, then actually taking flight and soaring around the field. Tonks and Cassius watched, chuckling. They were turning away to return to the others as Feathermane swept along the high wall at the edge of the field that separated it from the surrounding moorland – then both their heads snapped round to look more closely.

"Tonks, did you see what I thought I saw?" asked Cassius hesitantly.

"If you saw half his wing disappear for a moment while it was over that wall, then yeah," replied Tonks. "Worth a look?"

"_Definitely._ Keep your wand handy."

Feathermane watched with interest as they approached the wall. Cassius put out a hand and tentatively ran his fingers over it, then waved his wand, muttering a few spells. He stood back and looked thoughtful.

"There are very slight magical traces on the stones, but no more than I'd expect for the boundaries of a wizard's residence. I can't detect an invisibility spell, and there's no obvious Distraction Charm or anything like that."

"Some kind of spatial concealment spell?" offered Tonks. "Like platform nine and three-quarters?"

"Could well be. I wonder … perhaps it's just a case of finding the right place?"

"Maybe it only kicks in when you're on top of the wall," suggested Tonks. "It's a bit high to levitate over – oh, hang on a minute." She waved her wand and Conjured a ladder, which she propped against the stonework. "Hold this steady for me, will you?"

"All right," said Cassius, chuckling as Tonks climbed up and scrambled on to the top of the wall, which proved to be a good foot thick. "Anything of interest?"

"No, just another ordinary field this side," she said with disappointment. She walked carefully along the wall and probed around her with detection spells, but couldn't find any more than the traces of magic Cassius had already found. She picked up one of the loose stones resting on top of the wall and threw it down to the other side, where it landed on the grass with a perfectly ordinary-sounding thud. "Nothing here as far as I can tell …"

"The Hippogriff was definitely passing through _something_ though," insisted Cassius. "It's quite easy to forget and leave something out from one of those spatial spells if you're not careful – maybe it wasn't affected because it's a magical creature itself?"

"Maybe – where was Feathermane when we saw his wing disappear?" she called.

"Roughly where you are now, I think," he called in reply. "Still nothing?"

She turned her head back to look down at him. "Can't see anythi … _aagh!_" she cried as she stumbled on one of the loose stones. She barely had time to register the fact that although the stone shot out from underneath her foot, it travelled no further than the edge of the wall, before she lost her balance completely and tumbled off on the far side, landing unceremoniously on her backside.

"Tonks! Are you all right?" came Cassius's urgent, if slightly muffled, voice.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just winded," she shouted back, picking herself up and dusting her robes down. "It's not such a fall this side …" She trailed off as she realised what that might mean and spun around. What she saw made her jaw drop.

"CASSIUS!" she yelled. "GET OVER HERE, _NOW!_"

A few seconds later, an alarmed-looking Cassius appeared as he scrambled up on top of the wall. He looked around, bemused. "Tonks? Where _are_ you?"

"That stone must be a trigger!" she called back. "Kick it, then jump down – it's only a foot or so!"

A look of considerable trepidation crossed Cassius' face at this advice, but he braced himself and did as she suggested, She caught his arm as he landed to keep him upright, and his jaw dropped just as Tonks' had done. "Well, at least _now_ we know why Arkwright wanted those cages from Mackenzie Ashford," he said eventually.

The sight that met their eyes was a fairly extensive paddock with a number of large cages and tanks dotted about, containing a variety of wild and dangerous-looking creatures. Tonks and Cassius walked slowly around, looking in from a safe distance. "Those _are_ tigers, right?" she asked, gazing at a pair of big striped cats which were giving them a mean look. "Not some weird Indian magical creature or something?"

"I don't _think_ so," said Cassius. "Not that I'm an expert. I'm fairly certain those white things over there must be polar bears, though …"

"The ones in the cage with ice charms all over the floor?"

"Yes. And those are buffalo, obviously, and that's a small pride of lions, and … well, I'm not quite sure what those fish with sharp teeth in the big tank are, but I _think_ they're called snakeheads …"

"That figures. Um, I hope _you_ can remember where we came in …" Tonks glanced around and pointed suddenly. "Oh wait a minute, there's a door over there!" There was indeed; it was standing by itself in the middle of the paddock, apparently unconnected to anything else. They wandered over to look. "Where do you think it goes?"

"I _hope_ it leads out into the main farm," said Cassius. He took out his wand and tried a few experimental spells. "It seems to have some kind of spatial charm on it too – I'd say it probably only opens from this side. Ready to try it?"

Tonks nodded, seized the handle nervously and gave it a quick twist. The door swung open to reveal an astonished Will Poppleford and Honoria Biggar and a rather disgruntled Arkwright, all standing in the main office of the farmhouse.

"WHAT ARE _YOU_ TWO DOING THERE?" cried Biggar, recovering first, her yell temporarily drowning out the growls from the animals behind them.

"Aye, _ah'd_ like to know that an' all," said Arkwright, scowling. "Snoopin' round an' fund tha way in? Well come on then, ah'd better show _all_ o' thee round, now tha's 'ere." He strode past Tonks into the paddock and the others followed, looking around wide-eyed at the miniature zoo it contained.

"We couldn't find anything unusual …" said Honoria, in what for her was practically a whisper. "Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!"

"How did you hide this door, Arkwright?" snapped Will.

"Tha couldn't see nowt from t'other side 'cause it's not _thur _unless it's already open from this side, tha daft bleeder," he said, smirking. "Ah only shut it when t' Ministry clowns come round. Thur's another entrance out thur over t' wall – tha li'le trainee looks like she fund it fer thee. Tha ought to gi' 'er a job."

Honoria Biggar seemed to have found her voice again. "That's IT, Arkwright!" she bellowed. "You're under arrest for breaking the terms of your agreement with the Ministry!"

Arkwright seemed completely unimpressed by this. "Oh aye?" he said. "On what grounds?"

"What _grounds_ – it said on the agreement that you were not to keep any dangerous creatures without Ministry permission!" she spluttered.

He grinned at her triumphantly. "Tha thinks so?" he said. "Tha should learn to read reet. Ah agreed not ta keep any _magical_ creatures wi'out telling t'interfering buggers from t' Ministry, but none o' _this_ lot are magical …."

"But … but … what about the risk to local people if they got out?" cried Will, looking disconcerted by Arkwright's argument. "Did you even _think_ of that?"

Arkwright snorted, and continued with glee. "Oh, don't tha worry. Those cages are t' _proper_ 'uns this time. It said in t' _Prophet_ that someone tried t'ave that cheating git Ashford done in, so ah reckoned if ah let 'im know ah wanted some better stuff, 'e weren't gonna shortchange uz _this_ time! Not if 'e were scared somebody were after him – and it might be _me_, tha knows!"

Cassius and Tonks exchanged startled glances, as did the two magical creature regulators (although probably for different reasons). "What about your neighbours getting _in?_" tried Honoria, to nods from Will. "Won't they be at risk?"

"Nobbut Muggles far as t'eye can see round 'ere," replied Arkwright trenchantly. "Repelling charms all round. Nearest bloody wizards are them stuck-up buggers t' Princes out 'ornby way, and _they_ won't drop by 'ere …"

Tonks felt Cassius tug gently on her sleeve as the other three continued their argument. "Perhaps this would be a good time to leave?" he suggested in an undertone.

She looked at them and grinned. "Yeah, I think so."

They quietly slipped out with a wave to a distracted Will Poppleford (who absently returned it) and made their way out towards the Apparition point, pausing only briefly to pet Feathermane and tell him what a good boy he was for helping them out. He preened at their words, which made Tonks wonder if Hippogriffs really _could_ understand the rudiments of what was said to them.

"You reckon he meant that about Ashford?" she asked as they reached the patch of trees.

"Arkwright doesn't seem like a man who'd keep his opinions hidden, exactly," said Cassius. "Don't you think so?"

Tonks smiled. "No, I'd say he convinced me he was sincere."

"Yes …" He glanced back. "That zoo of his_ will_ be safe, I hope?"

"Well, I suppose they _aren't_ magical creatures this time, so they won't be melting the bars by breathing fire or anything," she pointed out fairly. "Should we be doing anything else?"

He shook his head. "No. I'm very happy to write this off as being somebody else's department!"

They grinned at each other and Apparated back to London.

-----

_Saturday 10__th__ October 1994_

Despite being able to provisionally cross off one of their suspects (O'Gregan having managed to use his influence with a rather embarrassed Mackenzie Ashford to get him to confirm Arkwright's story), Tonks was relieved to break for the weekend.

Then again, there were a couple of potentially sticky situations to negotiate. If she called round to see her parents, they would no doubt want to know if there had been any developments in her cousin's case – and of course, there had been none at all. Shacklebolt had nothing new to tell her, and she viewed the idea of contacting Dumbledore about a letter she wasn't even supposed to have seen with trepidation.

More ominously, Chesney had reminded her that the Hallowe'en Ball was rapidly approaching, at which a certain amount of dancing was expected, and said he'd finally arranged to 'do something about that' as he'd mentioned cryptically a few weeks previously. Wondering what 'something' might turn out to be left her slightly uneasy

She Apparated into Diagon Alley on the Saturday evening, wearing smart casual dress rather than jeans and a T-shirt for once, just in case. He was already there waiting for her, sitting on one of the seats outside Florean Fortescue's and absorbed in the sports section of the _Daily Prophet_, which didn't seem likely to offer any clues to what he had in mind.

"Something of interest?" she said lightly, interrupting him with a quick cuff on the shoulder and exchanging a kiss. "Every time I meet you, you seem to have your head in the paper."

"Only an article by the manager of the Tornados," he said, folding the paper, shaking his head and grinning. "They've given him his own _column_ since they got to the top of the league …"

Tonks snorted. She'd never much liked the Tutshill Tornados, a team with a reputation for arrogance but until recently living on the past glories of the Roderick Plumpton era. "Yeah, right. Has anyone from Tutshill _ever_ written anything worth reading?"

"Harsh … but fair." He grinned. "Ready to practice for the Ball?"

"Where are we going?" asked Tonks warily.

"Wait and see!" The repetition of that phrase didn't make her feel more comfortable. Neither did their route, as he took her arm and escorted her away in the general direction of the little alleyway in which she'd had her nearly disastrous fight. _If he's signed me up for dancing classes in one of those tatty little rooms, he's going to be dumped_ right now. _And probably hexed as well._

Fortunately for Chesney' state of health, this didn't appear to be what he had in mind. He led her past most of the alleyways and stopped outside the door of a building on the main street. It looked old-fashioned, but relatively elegant. "Here you go," he said with a cheeky smile that was nevertheless slightly nervous. "'The Ballroom of Enchantment', they call it. Bit daft, and all right, the music they play's a bit ancient, but it's what we'll get on Hallowe'en night, and they do the same kind of dancing."

She looked at him with exasperation. "Ches, it _doesn't matter_. Whatever kind of dancing it is, I've still got two left feet! Even if we _do_ practice!"

"Yeah, but it's OK," he said, holding up a hand in a placatory manner. "You can hire dancing shoes here …"

At this, Tonks exploded. "I don't care if you can hire bloody _taffeta ballgowns_, it's still not going to make any difference to me!"

"No, no," he said hastily. "Let me finish. The dancing shoes they have here are charmed to respond to the music, yeah? When you put them on they just take your feet where they're supposed to go?"

"Oh … right," said Tonks, taken aback. "They do?"

"Yeah," said Chesney, looking heartened. "So it doesn't matter if you don't know the steps, Tonks, they'll do it for you." He grinned. "So you can forget about your feet and concentrate on your partner. Want to give it a go?"

Tonks glanced at the Ballroom of Enchantment with an oddly excited feeling. It _did_ look as if it might be fun to dance properly for a change. The most she'd ever dared to attempt – outside of the privacy of her own room, where tripping over her own feet couldn't embarrass her – was swaying more or less on the spot in dark, crowded clubs. "OK," she said, with a growing grin. "Not promising it'll work, but I'll give it a _try_, anyway. _Do_ I need a taffeta ballgown?"

"Not really – lucky you've gone smart casual tonight, that's all most people do, I think. Might get a few raised eyebrows at the pink hair, but that's just tough …"

"Oh, that's easy to fix," she said cheerfully, preparing to Metamorphose. She caught herself before actually doing so, and took out her wand, waving it vaguely in the direction of her head, while she concentrated on Metamorphosing the change she wanted. Her hair lengthened and turned blonde, and she quickly let it twist into a rather formal style that seemed to suit the Ballroom.

"Nice bit of Transfiguration!" said Chesney with approval, before seeming to realise that a little more might be required and adding hastily, "And it looks _really_ good, too!"

"Thanks, Ches," she said, trying to hide her amusement. "Shall we go, then?"

The inside of the Ballroom of Enchantment turned out to look much like Tonks had expected it might, judging from the outside. The owners had evidently gone to a fair amount of trouble to create an atmosphere of old-world elegance, although in her opinion they could have gone a little easier on the velvet hangings and gilt wall ornamentation. A haughty-looking witch sitting behind a small reception desk produced a pair of the 'dancing shoes' for Tonks.

"How long would madam wish to hire these for?" she asked in a voice that sounded slightly too refined to be entirely natural.

Tonks exchanged looks with Chesney. "Let's just say a couple of hours and see how it goes," she suggested firmly, glancing at a chart on the wall which specified this as the minimum hire time.

"Very well." The reception witch sniffed slightly, but tapped the shoes with her wand and handed them over. Tonks exchanged them for her own, and as she put on the dancing shoes they shrank to fit her feet perfectly.

"Cool!" she said, earning a wince from the Ballroom employee. "Right, Ches, let's give this a try then!" She took his arm as they entered an elegant-looking ballroom in which a few dozen people were already dancing. The majority looked older than Tonks and Chesney, but there were a few younger-looking couples there, most of them appearing slightly bemused.

"There you are, you see," pointed out Chesney. "They've got those shoes on too, look."

"_You_ haven't," said Tonks, realising this fact for the first time.

"My grandmother insisted that all of us kids learned to dance," he said, chuckling. "Apparently her school had classes back in the day …"

"Lucky they don't now! Not much point, I suppose."

"True. My sister loved it, me and my brother hated it – but it comes in useful occasionally." He winked and then gave a little formal bow, which would have been more effective if he'd been able to keep the grin off his face. "So, would you care to dance, miss?"

"Why _thank_ you, kind sir," replied Tonks in the same manner, taking his hand and stepping onto the dance floor, with a polite smile that concealed considerable nervousness regarding the effectiveness of the shoes.

She needn't have worried, however; she was astonished but delighted by the way her feet simply seemed to go wherever they were supposed to as soon as the music started. Tonks felt wonderfully free as they danced – the enchanted shoes ensured that she couldn't trip over her own feet, and the fact that Chesney was holding her close meant that she couldn't really make a wrong move otherwise. As they stepped off the floor for a breather she glanced at the clock and was amazed to find that nearly an hour had gone by.

"How did you find out about this place?" she asked, flushed but exhilarated.

"Saw it one evening when I was wandering around town with my brother and we decided to take a look inside," he said, looking equally pleased. "He was embarrassed as hell, but I was surprised to find it was quite fun when I tried it."

"So you suggested this just for the physical contact then?" joked Tonks.

To her surprise, Chesney coloured slightly, which she found quite endearing. "Well, no, mainly I thought it would help for the Ministry ball, although that did cross my mind I suppose …"

Tonks grinned and raised her eyebrows. This was too good a teasing opportunity to pass up. "So who did you dance with when you came in with your brother?"

"It was just a pick-up-a-partner night …"

"Oh yeah? Who did you pick up then? Anyone I should know about?"

Chesney gave the impression of a man who would have dearly liked to withdraw his last few statements. "Er – well, actually, to be honest, this pair of middle-aged witches came up and grabbed us before we could ask anyone else, so there." He was looking more and more embarrassed by the second. "I don't think my brother's forgiven me yet. He keeps saying that one day he'll send me some shoes that'll _really_ get me dancing – probably have the Curse of St Vitus on them or something …"

"I'll look forward to seeing that." Tonks caught his uncertain expression and took pity on him. "Oh well, I'll just have to make up for your previous encounter then, you poor thing," she said archly. "Physical contact works for me too. Shall we dance, sir?"

"Great idea!" Chesney stood up hastily and swept her back onto the floor to put an end to the conversation.

The floor was filling up quite quickly now as more wizards and witches came into the ballroom, but the dancing couples seemed to be kept apart by some mixture of skill and charmwork, and Tonks and Chesney were once again able to lose themselves in dancing. It wasn't until Tonks glanced up during a quickstep that it occurred to her to look at the clock, and then to realise that the two hours were almost over.

Panicking slightly, she frantically tried to convey this information to Chesney with a series of nods towards her feet and the seating. He looked bemused for a moment, then his eyes widened and he nodded in turn, sweeping her round in a move that appeared elegant but actually brought them much closer to the edge of the dancefloor. Tonks breathed a silent sigh of relief and tried to follow his lead.

When the heel of her shoe became caught up in the trailing gown worn by one of the other dancers during this manoeuvre, it didn't immediately register. The tug on her foot pulling her off-balance certainly did, however. It was followed by a moment or two of sheer horrified realisation as she slipped again, just as she had done on the wall at Arkwright's; then she found herself not merely falling over and dragging Chesney down with her, but causing a small pile-up as several other couples were knocked over in turn like dominoes.

Tonks closed her eyes as she lay on the floor, took some deep breaths, and wished fervently that she could once again vanish into an invisible enchanted space. Unfortunately, this time her luck was out. Crimson with humiliation and cursing herself fluently under her breath for not checking the time, she looked up in order to apologise to the nearest couple and found herself staring into the half-amused, half-astounded faces of Cassius and Angelica Hallendale.

She shut her eyes again and tried not to whimper. _Great. Just great. Brilliant. Just bloody _wonderful_. Absolutely sodding perfect._

Cassius shook himself and helped both women to their feet with the air of a man remembering his manners; Chesney stammered apologies to the other rather disgruntled dancers who had been knocked over; and the four of them quickly made their way to the edge of the floor and sat down at one of the surrounding tables. Everyone looked at everyone else without quite knowing what to say.

Chesney eventually broke the silence. "So, you're, erm, Tonks' boss then, yeah?" he asked in a rather strained voice.

"Oh, ah, yes," he replied. "We've met briefly, haven't we? Erm, this charming young woman is Angelica Hallendale …"

"We've met too," interrupted Angelica, with an amused, but thoughtful, expression. "At the Quidditch World Cup, wasn't it? Miss Tonks here was telling me off and you were being just as flattering as Cassius." Both men coloured slightly and Tonks cringed at the recollection. "So do you often come dancing? I haven't seen you here before."

"First time," said Chesney. Tonks still didn't trust herself to speak. "Er, we didn't see you when we came in?"

"We only just arrived," she explained. "It was quite a shock to see you. I didn't know _you_ danced, Miss Tonks."

"I don't usually," she mumbled. "Too clumsy."

"Oh yes, of course." Her mouth twitched, presumably remembering the first time they'd met, and Tonks reddened again. Angelica Hallendale noticed and gave her a sympathetic smile. "You know, I've always imagined it must be quite hard for you to be sure how to move when you keep changing your body shape?"

Tonks winced. Chesney blinked. "That's a bit extreme, isn't it?" he said, puzzled. "I mean, I know Tonks Transfigured her hair for tonight, but that's not really _much_ of a change …"

"You _Transfigured_ it?" Angelica raised her eyebrows; even Cassius looked surprised. "I thought you were a Morpho … Malleo … erm, whatever it's called when you can change your looks at will like you can?" She glanced between Tonks' grimace, Cassius' gentle but frantic dissuading shake of the head, and Chesney's baffled face upon which both comprehension and astonishment were slowly arriving, and lost her smile. "Oh … have _I_ put my foot in it now?"

Cassius stepped in hastily. "I don't think my young colleague likes to publicise what she can do, Angelica," he said. "Security reasons and all that. I'm sure you understand. Anyway, perhaps we should leave these young people to themselves now?"

"Ah … yes," said Angelica, rising. "Well, it's been … er, interesting meeting you again, Miss Tonks, and your guy … ah, your 'nice bloke'. Yes. Um, good luck." She allowed Cassius to lead her back onto the dancefloor. Tonks, getting past her numbness from the accumulated embarrassments of the last quarter of an hour, wondered briefly just how often she'd been keeping company with Cassius; but she let the thought go, as by unspoken mutual consent she and Chesney left the dance hall, exchanged the dancing shoes for her own, and exited into Diagon Alley.

Neither of them seemed to know quite what to say. They walked for a couple of hundred yards in silence before flopping down onto a broad shop windowsill that made a convenient seat.

Once again, Chesney was the one who broke the silence. "Well, Cinderella got to go to the ball, but I suppose we should have known her fur slippers would turn back into clogs," he said jokingly. Tonks managed a wan smile, which seemed to hearten him slightly. "So, er, this body shape thing," he said delicately. "I wasn't sure if that Muggle woman knew what she was talking about, but it sounded like she was saying you're … well, a _Metamorphic_ or whatever they're called?"

"Metamorphmagus."

He stared at her incredulously. "So it's _true?_ You are one? _Really?_ Um … wow."

Tonks smiled wanly again. "Oh, it's true all right. Watch." She concentrated briefly and ran through about half-a-dozen faces from her repertoire, ending with a return to her normal appearance but with her usual (if hardly natural) pink hair. "There you go. Nice little parlour trick, isn't it?"

"I'll say." He looked thoroughly impressed, but also utterly disconcerted. "I mean, I heard somewhere there _were_ people like that – er, like you – but I've never _met_ one before. Is this, erm –" he coloured slightly "– is this, you know, how you're looking now, actually you?"

She snorted. "You mean, what do I _really_ look like? Am I some horrible looking person you wouldn't be interested in? No, this is me, Ches. Every Metamorphmagus has a natural look, apparently, and this is mine. Well, apart from the hair, obviously, but I don't care – I like it like this. I might change if I thought I looked absolutely terrible, but I probably wouldn't."

"Right." Chesney seemed to be struggling for words. "Do you … oh I don't know, I mean … how hard is it to do that? Do you … well, do you have to remember what you really look like or something?"

Tons smiled tiredly; this was a question she'd been asked far too many times before. "No. It settles back to this after a while, unless I concentrate hard to stop it. I suppose it's like … oh, maybe wearing a tight pair of shoes or something? I can only change myself for so long before it starts to feel uncomfortable, but the more I break a look in, the more comfortable it gets. I _can_ change for days at a time if I need to, though, so it's just fine for undercover stuff, but eventually it's as if you just want to kick the shoes off and let yourself relax."

"Aren't you supposed to talk about it then?" he asked uncertainly.

"What?" It took Tonks a moment to realise what he was talking about. "Oh, you mean what Cassius said? No, that was just him trying to save my face and give me an excuse for not having told you. There's no reason why people shouldn't know – it's never been a big _secret_ or anything."

"Why _didn't_ you tell me then?" he asked tentatively. He sounded a little hurt.

"Because …" Tonks shrugged. "Oh, what the hell. Just an old insecurity, Ches, if you _must_ know. I got fed up with boyfriends who were so bloody fascinated with what I could do it was _all_ they could think about. I don't like to tell them – er, you – now until I have some idea how they'll react."

She looked away, not quite wanting to catch his eye. "When I was a teenager it _was_ fun for a while, I'll admit. Make my boobs look like a couple of Bludgers straining to escape from the box, get the boys' attention, get my boyfriends going, that sort of thing. But I got bored with it pretty bloody quickly. You know, I can _look_ like almost anyone, but I can't _be_ almost anyone, and I don't want to sodding _try_. I can do a pretty good impersonation job, but when I'm being me, I'm _me_, not someone else. This is me, take it or leave it."

"Right," he said again. He began talking rather quickly and nervously. "Um, well you know I asked you out _anyway_ before I knew about this, obviously, and I mean, it was because I liked the way you look anyway – er, not just your _look_, I mean, I like _you_ too, I mean we get along don't we, and well OK I won't say I'm _not_ curious but obviously, well I mean you're just fine the way you are, and that's fine by me and I don't really want you to change or anything and I mean I'm not like those creepy sods who go around trying to get hair cuttings for making Polyjuice because they want to shag Zara Gabon without the risk of marrying her, I mean _ugh_ and … I mean obviously I don't care because I like you the way you are and I know that sounds corny and I mean …" The stream of inane babble ground to a halt as Tonks stared at him. "Um, Tonks? Why are you looking at me like that? I mean it needn't mess things up, need it, and … _umph!_"

Tonks broke off her fierce kiss after a few seconds and looked at him with shining eyes. "Ches? You're _brilliant!_"

"I am?" he said, looking confused but pleased. He reached for her but she jumped up and moved away, fumbling for her mirror phone.

"Yes!" she said, muttering "Cassius Smethwyck," into the mirror. Chesney tried to bring her into an embrace but she waved him away impatiently as the call was answered.

"Cassius?" she said. "I think I've _got it!_"

"Got what?" came a cautious voice from the other end. She realised belatedly that she'd probably dragged him off the dance floor to talk to her.

"Got the solution to the Ashford case! We went chasing red herrings because we didn't see how it could be worked!" She could barely restrain her excitement as odd facts from the case notes she'd memorised clicked into place. "And I think I've got a pretty good idea _who_ did it and _why_, not just _how_. I can see where it all fits!"

"You're serious?" Cassius sounded incredulous. "Who?"

Belatedly, she realised a little caution was in order. "Cassius, look. Give me time to check a few things. I want to go into work to look a few things up, just to be sure I'm not talking total cobblers here. Can you get the team together on Monday morning and if it pans out I'll tell you?"

"All right," he said, looking confused and slightly annoyed but maintaining his usual politeness. "I'll look forward to hearing your idea. Um, can I go back to Angelica now?"

"Yeah, of course," she said. "See you on Monday!"

Tonks turned back to a completely bewildered Chesney and smiled. "Sorry, Ches – but you were _brilliant_. You've just made me realise the obvious. I'm not walking out on you or anything, but I've got to go into work, OK?"

"Er … yeah," said Chesney. "I mean … yeah, of course if you've got something important. We are … we're OK, are we? Still want to go out?"

She beamed at him. "You bet." She kissed him again, at greater length this time. "You bloody _bet_. You _are_ a nice bloke, Chesney Thompson, and I'll make it up to you for walking out like this. But I've got to go. You're OK?"

"Yeah," he said, grinning. "I think I can manage to make it home without an Auror escort."

"Right," she said smiling. She kissed him once more, then turned on the spot and Apparated to the now-deserted foyer of the Ministry, and practically ran towards the lifts.

------------------------------------------------

**Notes:** I'll leave you to play Spot-the-Reference here – there were more than I thought in this chapter – but one I should give a specific shoutout to for 'hippoing along' is _True Confessions of a Teenage Multimagus_ by **After the Rain** (at FictionAlley). For the introduction of Feathermane, blame **Arithmancy** at Chamber of Secrets and **Lazyneutrino** at FictionAlley for asking (way back) about something that was meant to be a throwaway joke and giving me ideas. :) Thanks to Yorkshire lass **purpleygirl** for Tyke-picking Arkwright's dialogue!


	21. Fitting The Pieces Into Place

**20. Fitting The Pieces Into Place**

_Monday 5__th__ October 1994_

Tonks had a busy weekend.

Much of it was spent in the Auror Office, testing her theories against the evidence on hand, but she was still careful to be up and out early on Monday morning to get to her desk by half past seven. It earned her a rare approving nod from Scrimgeour as he passed by on the way to his office. She smiled to herself; most of the department had been staying out of his way wherever possible. His already sharp temper had grown steadily worse with the continuing lack of results from the World Cup investigation.

Getting her notes into shape to present to the team took a mere fifteen minutes. She then spent the next hour nervously checking and rechecking and shuffling them, and mentally rehearsing what she wanted to say. As it happened, the time spent reading over every little detail of the case notes at least half a dozen times while waiting on Will Poppleford had turned out to be very useful. Unfortunately, she had a horrible feeling that she might have let herself become sidetracked, and woven elaborate theories based on insignificant details. All the connections and conclusions that had seemed obvious when they hit her on Friday night now seemed a trifle ridiculous.

Rhiannon Davies was the first to arrive, waving at her as she passed by on her way to get coffee. Tonks gave her a tremulous wave in return. Fortunately Cassius turned up a few minutes later and offered her a mildly encouraging smile.

"You look like a young Auror who thinks she's about to make a fool of herself."

"You got that right," muttered Tonks. She shook herself; there really wasn't much she could do about it now. And there was something she'd been wanting to ask ever since Friday night … She dredged up a grin from somewhere. "So how long have you and Mrs Hallendale been – er, didn't they call it 'stepping out' in your day?"

"We're not _stepping out_," replied Cassius with a faint blush. "But as you know, we enjoy each other's company from time to time, and we both rather like to dance, so I asked her if she might like to …" He coughed. "I hope we didn't embarrass you in front of your young man by mentioning your, um, talent?"

"_You_ look like an old Auror who's trying to change the subject," said Tonks, smirking and feeling on slightly safer ground for the moment. "Don't worry, I think me and Ches are OK. Lucky she _did_ mention it though, what he said afterwards was what started me thinking the right way in the first place …" Unfortunately, that brought her mind back to the main subject at hand, and _that_ sent her heart dropping back into her boots.

She didn't get much chance to recover, as O'Gregan and Cornworthy arrived shortly afterwards. She led them all down to one of the conference rooms, trying to give an impression of total confidence. It wasn't easy to maintain as they dropped into chairs and looked at her.

"Over to you then, Tonks," said Cassius politely. "I'll start you off if you like. You said we'd chased red herrings because we didn't see how it could be worked – would I be right in assuming you meant Portia's apparent escapades?"

"That's right. An impersonation …"

"Polyjuice Potion, you mean?"

Tonks sighed with relief. "Yes. We kept thinking of it, and then deciding it wouldn't work because they'd need a reliable source of something from Portia's body, didn't we? But there are ways to get that, aren't there?"

"You think someone picked a few stray hairs off her coat or something?" asked Rhiannon dubiously. "A bit risky – tricky to do it without being noticed, and you really need a little clump of it to make enough for more than one dose. Not to mention that making the base is difficult. You _can_ order it ready made, but either way it's expensive and risky. I know Polyjuice _seems_ like an obvious thing to use, Tonks, and they drill it into you to watch out for it when you do your training, but you'd be surprised – in practice, we really don't see cases all that often."

"And remember, you don't want to drink the stuff unless you know _exactly_ what's in it," added Cassius. "If you brew it the wrong way, or mix hairs from more than one person, or get animal hair in there – ugh. I've seen what happened to people who tried it, and it wasn't pretty."

"Or do you think Charlotte took some hairs off a pillow, or scooped up her nail clippings from the bathroom or something?" said O'Gregan, semi-jocularly.

Tonks swallowed. This wasn't going to plan at all. "No. Much easier," she said hurriedly, before the rest of the team could pour any more cold water on the idea. "Who can cut chunks off someone's hair with no questions asked?"

The others exchanged glances. "Her _hairdresser?_" asked Cassius with a quickening of interest. "The one in the Magical Market?"

Tonks nodded, and O'Gregan snorted at her. "I don't know what potions you've been drinking, Nymphadora, but I wish you'd teach me how to brew them, so I do."

His girlfriend looked at him reprovingly. "No, hang on, Don, that's a very fair point. It _would_ be an excellent way to get samples if you wanted hair from someone specific. Wouldn't it be a big risk to bribe her though? I suppose you could Memory Charm her once you'd got them, but you'd have to be _really_ sure she hadn't told anybody about the deal first …"

"Not if _she_ was the one doing it," said Tonks. She hastened to explain as the rest of the team raised sceptical eyebrows. "Look, for a start, all the time I was in that shop of hers talking about the Ashford case to Portia, she was on edge. I thought at the time it was just your wife winding her up, Don –"

"Sounds like a perfectly plausible explanation to me," put in O'Gregan sourly.

"– but now I think about it, she was kind of twitching at all the wrong moments – or all the _right_ moments, if I was touching on subjects she was vulnerable to. Like – oh, when Norah sneered at her to say she'd get the men where she wanted them if she looked like Portia Blackstock, for example. Or when she was trying not to show she was listening carefully to everything we said about the case? I just didn't pay much attention because I was concentrating on the _other_ two."

"But …" began Cassius.

Tonks carried on; she didn't dare let him stop her and pick holes again now before she'd had a chance to say her piece. "She even _said_ she was short of money; and she supposedly had a private client the night it happened – but she was very close-mouthed about who it was supposed to be, wasn't she? And I know she could have kept hair samples – I bloody _saw_ them being carefully separated out!"

Rhiannon's eyes widened in recollection. "Oh boy. That little dustpan and brush thing she's got?"

"Exactly!" said Tonks, heartened. "When she was doing Norah O'Gregan's hair, it swept all the cuttings into their own little box. I'll bet she kept samples for all her customers, just in case! And we know she's got the potions expertise she'd need to brew the base, she makes all her own stuff for that shop!"

"_Why_ though?" exclaimed O'Gregan. "What would _she_ stand to gain by trying to kill Ashford?"

Cassius was looking thoughtful. "You think _she_ was the one in cahoots with Charlotte Perks? But what about the connection between Charlotte and Portia?"

"I don't think it's _Charlotte_ who's her connection, or she would probably have said something suspicious under Veritaserum even if we didn't ask her the question specifically," said Tonks, crossing her fingers. The next bit had seemed so plausible when she pieced it together over the weekend, but it _was_ guesswork … "I think it's _Mickey Ashford_ who's the link. Couldn't he be the boyfriend she's supposedly 'taking a break' from – probably because they don't dare to be seen together in public under the circumstances, just like Charlotte and Portia? The one whose girlfriend didn't turn up at the World Cup, so he had to try to get his money back on the ticket?"

"With money troubles of his _own_ then, perhaps?" said Cassius, definite interest on his face now.

"Yeah. I remember, Charlotte actually _said_ he was a losing gambler – I mean, come on, it's not like he'd be the only man ever to bet more than he could afford to pay, is it? He could have nicked her card from their tent to send with the chocolates, no problem. He was right there on the campsite, so he could have nipped into the post office tent and sent them at any time without anyone batting an eyelid."

"And _she_ would have brewed the Heart-Enfeebling Potion to soak them in," mused Cassius. "Yes, that would fit. Mickey would know what chocolates his uncle liked just as well as Charlotte would. I'd also be prepared to speculate that he could have known, at least subconsciously, that Charlotte was Ashford's favourite out of the three of them, so he might have been a little resentful of that and willing to put the blame on her … It's definitely an idea, Tonks. But you do realise this is all completely circumstantial and highly speculative, don't you?"

"It sounds plausible though, Cassius," put in Cornworthy, speaking for the first time. Tonks could have kissed him. "It's not like we've come up with any _better_ theory yet. It does make sense of the Charlotte and Portia situation – the reason we can't seem to prove they were directly involved in the crime would be that they _aren't_. They're just being set up to take the blame."

"I kind of got the impression when I was in there that both Marcella Mascarra and Don's wife were aware of the connection between those two, or at the very least which way Portia was inclined," added Tonks, much more cheerful now that the team seemed to be considering her ideas seriously, at least. "What's the betting Portia told her hairdresser she was planning to cry off from the Bletchleys' party, and what she _really_ needed the special hairdo for that night?"

"I think even Mickey might like those odds, _if_ your guess is right," said Cassius with a thoughtful look. "Even if 'Portia' was quickly identified at the Transfigured Toad, the real one wouldn't dare say what she was _actually_ doing in case her parents heard about it. It would match with the psychological pattern we noticed – a willingness to take some risks, but covering the bets as far as possible. Almost the opposite of Mickey, in fact."

"Mascarra might well have worked out the plan, then."

"Yes … yes, that would fit. Let's see; using Portia's very striking appearance in a place like the Transfigured Toad would give her the opportunity to hand-pick her, erm, _fall guy_. She could expect Portia Blackstock not to be known there, so she wouldn't necessarily be a link back to Miss Mascarra – but if Portia's name ever _did_ come out publicly, a casual anonymous hint to us about the Charlotte Perks connection would give her a motive, and give our hairdresser another layer of defence. I've heard worse plans," he finished judiciously.

"All right, it's not too shabby an idea, I'll grant you," said O'Gregan, who seemed slightly disgruntled that the junior team member had come up with it and not him. "But even assuming it's right for the sake of argument, how are we ever going to _prove_ it?"

"What do we know about this woman, Tonks?" asked Cassius. "Can I assume you checked her in the Auror records?"

"Yeah, of course, I had that Gogol chasing around half the weekend," said Tonks, picking up her notes. "Her real name's Jacqueline Carrack – it _would_ be a bit of a coincidence if she was actually called Marcella Mascarra, wouldn't it? There are a few MLE observation reports that mention seeing her in that dodgy pub in the Magical Market, but then loads of people must have been in there at one time or another. Muggle-born, so I suppose she'd know all about Clapham Common muggers and the like. I checked her school record – she got good N.E.W.T.s overall and Outstanding in Potions and Charms, but as far as I can tell she was passed over for some of the better jobs and went into business on her own instead. Done quite well for herself considering, but I don't suppose there's a lot of money in her line of work unless you can make a big name for yourself."

"And I reckon she'd have pretty stiff competition there from Madam Primpernelle in Diagon Alley," added Rhiannon.

"Where did she get the Liquor of Jacmel though?" asked Cornworthy. "She definitely didn't brew _that_."

Tonks winced. This was one of the weaker points of her theory. "All right, I'm not sure about that. We're assuming she probably got the information about the potion she used from Lore of Yore, and we _know_ our 'Butler' bloke went there too. My guess is that she met him there by chance and got talking to him just like Beatrice Easton did."

"Perhaps she could have offered him a trade?" suggested Rhiannon. "I'll brew you some potions to order, you supply me with the one I _can't_ make?"

"Well, we'll find out when we question her, won't we?" said Tonks optimistically.

Cassius shook his head. "That's a _long_ way off, Tonks, even if you're right. First we need some supporting evidence."

"Oh," she said, her face falling.

"But to start with, let's attempt to confirm your speculations," said Cassius with decision. "It's well worth a try – as Arnold says, we don't actually have any better theories. We can probably get an interview with Portia Blackstock now without getting into political trouble from her parents – she'll be worried that we'll tell them about her affair with Charlotte. Donnacha, Arnold – do you think you can get in and out of that shop in the Magical Market without leaving any sign that you've done so?"

The two Aurors looked at each other and nodded. "Shouldn't be a problem, Cassius old son," said O'Gregan. "She can't have anything too bad in the way of curses on that little place, can she now?"

"And if she does, that in itself would be an indication of something to hide," pointed out Cornworthy. "You can check first, Don."

"Thanks!"

"Can any of you remember enough from your observations to get a rough list of her customers, with pictures?" asked Cassius, suddenly clicking his fingers. "And Trina Orevel's customers, for that matter?"

"I should reckon so," said O'Gregan. "We can use Arnie's Image Projector. Why – what are you thinking of?"

"Well, we're speculating that she's using Polyjuice based on her customers' hair samples, aren't we?" he explained, to looks of dawning comprehension from the others. "We're also guessing that she may have visited Lore of Yore to find potions texts. If so, I wouldn't be at all surprised if she went _there_ in disguise too, if she was shopping for something dubious. If we can find a customer of both places who is willing to swear – or even better, can actually prove – that they haven't been to that bookshop, that's a solid piece of circumstantial evidence."

"I doubt we'll be able to get Orevel to say who was there and who wasn't," said Tonks, "but we can interview Mascarra's customers and, I don't know, pretend to be doing a survey or something?"

"I've been keeping an eye on the bookshop recently, remember," said Rhiannon. "I can give you a list of her customers, and probably fake up something convincing with Mascarra too."

"And I think we should have a word with Mr Farley again, so I do," said O'Gregan grimly. "Just in case he has anything we add that we forgot to ask him about last time around."

Cassius gave a broad smile at them all, which became particularly approving when he turned to Tonks. "Feels pleasant to have something specific to follow up, doesn't it? Let's make a start."

-----

_Wednesday 7__th__ October 1994_

A couple of days later, Tonks found herself sitting with Cassius at a table outside a small Diagon Alley café, waiting for Portia Blackstock to show up. She wasn't sure exactly what combination of charm and steel Cassius had used in order to arrange the interview; but since it had apparently worked, she decided that she'd rather not inquire too closely.

She glanced up as Cassius rose with a smile to greet Portia, and to her surprise saw that Charlotte Perks had also come along. The look on her face was challenging, perhaps even pugnacious, and didn't bode well. "Right, we're here," she said. "And I know I wasn't invited, but after what you bastards did to me I wasn't going to let Portia come here on her own so you lot could have a free shot at her. Got that?"

"Yes, Miss Perks, I think we have," said Cassius quietly. "I did wonder if you would accompany her, actually. And I should apologise for our recent treatment of you. It _was_ an honest mistake, but even so I can understand that isn't much consolation."

"No, it bloody isn't." She glanced at Portia and they exchanged oddly soft smiles. "Go on then. What was it you wanted?"

"Well, chiefly, we wanted to ask Portia who might have known where she was the night before your uncle was stabbed."

"And why does that matter? She was with me in Paris. We've got at least a dozen witnesses."

"Witnesses who didn't mention her originally," pointed out Tonks. She bit her lip; that hadn't come out quite right. She didn't really want to antagonise them before the conversation even got started.

"Well of course not," said Charlotte with scorn. "We asked them not to. We'd no idea you were going to try to drag Portia into this, did we? And … well, it wouldn't have been a good idea for everyone to know we were involved." By _everyone_ Tonks assumed she meant _Portia's parents_.

"Why _do_ you want to know, Mr Smethwyck?" put in Portia tremulously, speaking for the first time.

Cassius hesitated, weighing up the two women opposite him for a moment, then said simply, "Because, as you may remember, the man who actually carried out the stabbing did so under the influence of Dark Magic. And someone _exactly_ fitting Portia's description was seen with him the previous night, leaving a pub just off Knockturn Alley that has a very shady reputation."

This received the predictable reaction. Portia paled and her mouth fell open; Charlotte spluttered and for a moment couldn't seem to think of anything to say. "_What?_" she said eventually. "Don't be ridiculous! I don't know what game you think you're playing trying to drive a wedge in, Smethwyck, but it won't work!"

"Mr Smethwyck, _please_," said Portia, looking horrified. "You can't think I'd do something like that!"

"You do have a sort of motive, Portia," pointed out Tonks, as kindly as she could. "I mean, you're … erm, connected to someone who stands to inherit a lot of money if Mackenzie Ashford dies."

"But I wouldn't! And why would that be a motive anyway?" asked Portia, clearly puzzled. "I've got Daddy's money, you know."

"Because we might want our _own_ money? Because they imagine I'd care for someone who was capable of that?" said Charlotte in an icy voice. "Portia, a Dark witch? Bullshit! I'm more of a Dark witch than she is, and I _hate_ them and everything they stand for!" Tonks found herself actually half-nodding in approval.

"It must have been someone else who just _looked_ like me," said Portia with a plea in her voice. "I wasn't there, Mr Smethwyck, _really_ I wasn't. I wouldn't dare go into that kind of pub in the first place – I even always cried off when everyone went to the Hog's Head, you know!" Tonks did already know this from the beauty salon conversation, of course, but didn't say so; there was no reason they needed to know Mavis Grimble's real identity.

Cassius looked rather pleased. "Well, there is always the possibility that someone impersonated you, Portia," he said gently, which seemed to mollify both her and Charlotte. "So the question becomes, who actually knew where you would be that night? Did either of you tell anyone about your plans?"

They exchanged glances. "I didn't, Portia love, honest," said Charlotte anxiously. "I know what it means to you not to row with your family. I wouldn't've – not if you didn't want me to."

"And I know I'm a bit stupid sometimes, but I'm not stupid enough to tell _everyone_ my secrets, you know," said Portia, dashing Tonks' hopes. "There's only one or two people I'd trust, you know, and I didn't even tell them more than I had to."

"Ah, I see," said Cassius. He sounded as disappointed as Tonks felt.

"Could anyone have found out …" Tonks trailed off. "Hang on, you said _more than you had to_. Did you sort of _hint_ to anyone what you were doing?"

"Well, of course I told _Marcella_ I wasn't going to be where Mummy and Daddy _expected_ me to be, you know," said Portia with a smile. "I had to, she does my hair, she's a friend of mine really. I think she worked out I was going to be with Charlie, she sort of winked at me when I said it, you know? But _she_ wouldn't tell anybody."

"Wait a minute," said Charlotte, horrified comprehension dawning on her face. "_That's_ what you two are looking for, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" asked Tonks warily. She could see the other woman practically fitting the pieces into place as she spoke.

"_Polyjuice Potion_," breathed Charlotte. "Portia, she could have taken your hair any time she liked! _And_ she'd be perfectly capable of brewing it, I bet!"

"What's Polyjuice Potion?" asked Portia blankly. "And why would she want to take my hair?"

The two Aurors exchanged amused looks. "It's a potion that … makes you look exactly like someone else when you add a bit of their hair to it," said Tonks, hastily simplifying. "Ideal for impersonating somebody."

"But Marcella wouldn't do that!" said Portia, looking very distressed. "Why would she want to do that? She's my _friend!_" Charlotte put a comforting arm around her.

"Perhaps she was working with someone," hinted Tonks. "Have you any idea who that boyfriend of hers might be? The one she was supposed to be taking a break from? What he does or anything?"

"She wouldn't say a lot abut him, and I didn't ask!" said Portia, still looking upset. "He looked nice enough – better than her last one, you know, who used to hang around that funny pub in the Market. I don't think this one does work much."

"You saw him then? What did he look like?" asked Cassius. His voice was calm, but Tonks could detect his underlying excitement.

"Well – a bit average, you know? Tallish, thin I suppose, sort of fair haired, about Charlie's age … I only actually saw her with him once, I'm not even sure it _was_ him, you know? They were out in the middle of Muggle Birmingham looking in one of those house agent places. I was just passing with Mummy so I didn't say hello …"

"_Wait a minute_," interrupted Charlotte, her expression stricken. "When was this?"

"About a week before the World Cup," said Portia in surprise.

Charlotte closed her eyes and hung her head. "_Mickey_," she said in pain. "That's who you're getting at, isn't it?" She looked up again to stare accusingly at the Aurors. "You can't … not our little Mickey … no, he wouldn't do anything like … please?"

"_Something_ that Portia said seems to have given you the idea, Miss Perks," said Cassius softly. "And you're an intelligent woman, you can see the patterns as well as we can. Would you tell us what it was?"

Tonks thought for a moment that she might refuse to answer. "Houses," she said eventually. The word seemed to be wrenched out of her. "The week before the World Cup, Mickey told me he was looking for houses in the Midlands with his girlfriend. I teased him about it – even Abby did – we didn't think he really had one … and then when he turned up without her on the campsite …"

"Marcella told me she refused to go because of all the mess and mud!" cried Portia, aghast.

"And he's thin and fair-haired, isn't he?" said Tonks, trying to imitate Cassius' tone. "I saw him there on the campsite." She reached into the pocket of her robes and took out half a dozen small photographs, spreading them across the table. Their occupants winced and blinked at the sudden bright light. "Was the man you saw one of these people, Portia?"

She glanced at them, nodded and pointed. "That one there in the middle." That was Mickey Ashford's picture, and Tonks felt a sudden rush of complete glee at having been _right_ – rapidly quenched by the sight of the obvious misery of Charlotte Perks, whose lover held her hands comfortingly. "Oh Charlie. I'm so, so sorry …"

"Not your fault, love," she told her. "Just seems my no-good little cousin really _was_ no good …" She trailed off, her eyes suddenly flashing. "My _card_," she said in a dangerous voice "He must have taken it to set me up. That Marcella woman must have told him all about _us_. I don't _believe_ it! I wouldn't have believed he'd _do_ that! The little …" Even her usually extensive and colourful vocabulary seemed to fail her.

"What do you want us to do, Mr Smethwyck?" asked Portia, with a sombre expression.

He gave her an assessing look. "I'd _like_ you to keep this quiet until such time as we can take action. In other words, don't go away and _confront_ them. Don't let them know what we know."

"Set them up too, in other words?" said Charlotte bitterly.

Cassius shrugged. "Well yes, I'm afraid so, Miss Perks. I'm sorry, but it's not a trivial matter. There have been two attempts to murder your uncle already, and we've no reason to suppose they aren't planning to try again. Can the two of you manage that?"

They both nodded, Charlotte with obvious reluctance. "I don't see Mickey that often anyway."

"And I've got used to keeping secrets, you know, Mr Smethwyck," said Portia bravely. She glanced at Charlotte. "And … well, anything we can do to help, we will. I _know_ Charlie doesn't like you people, and I don't blame her, you know, but … well, I'll make sure she does. This is too horrible not to, you know?"

Her girlfriend gave her a weak smile; both Aurors watched approvingly. "Thank you _very_ much, Miss Blackstock. And you, Miss Perks. Believe me or not as you will, but I am _truly_ sorry to have to break this to you. Tonks – let's go. We have some plans to make."

Tonks glanced back at the two women as they left. They were holding each other tightly, and neither seemed to have noticed the tears that were streaming down their faces.

-----

_Thursday 8__th__ October 1994_

"Did you find anything on her premises last night, Don?" asked Tonks when the team met the following morning.

"No," he said, frustrated. "Nothing more than circumstantial evidence, anyway. I reckon we can rule out anyone breaking in and nicking the hair, because we _tried_ that and it's all gone from those little boxes …"

"And no-one could have picked stuff up off the floor," added Cornworthy. "I watched her – she was almost obsessive about cleaning the place before she left. Pointed her wand into every little corner."

"Well, that's something, I suppose," said Cassius. "No incriminating potions texts this time, Donnacha?"

"Sorry, old son. Nothing at all that didn't have a good reason for being there."

"Hang on," said Rhiannon, clicking her fingers. "Remember what I said when we discussed laundering those books through Lore of Yore, look you?"

O'Gregan tried to look as if he did, but failed. "Erm, what was that, my love?"

"I said if it was me _I'd_ write the potion recipes I was interested in down in some sort of personal code, so no-one but me knew what they were."

"But we didn't find anything like that," said O'Gregan impatiently. "Except for … _oh boy_."

Tonks' mouth fell open in surprise as she realised what Rhiannon was getting at. "You mean those things that are supposed to be her lists of ingredients for cosmetic potions?"

"Exactly! Well, most of them probably _are_, I should think, but no-one _else_ is going to know what the code words stand for, and if anyone asks about the wrong ones she can just lie through her teeth. The 'codebook' is probably all in her head!"

"Clever," said Cassius. "Yes, very clever of her if so. Again, nothing we can _prove_, but …"

O'Gregan spat out an inventive description of Marcella Mascarra. Nobody argued.

"Any luck with Farley, Don?" asked Tonks hopefully.

"We're bringing him in this afternoon," he explained, brightening a little. "I think we scared him so much last time, so we did, he's only too eager to help. Keep your fingers crossed …"

-----

Crossing fingers was one of the many things that were easier if you were a Metamorphmagus, but waiting on tenterhooks was not. By the time Farley and his legal representative Harris finally arrived, Tonks was beginning to get nervous again.

She listened, with a strange mixture of anticipation and boredom, as O'Gregan and Cornworthy went over the events of the evening in question with Farley once again, only this time with greater focus on what had happened _before_ he'd left the Transfigured Toad. He seemed just as eager to please as he had when talking under Veritaserum, but didn't add much new information.

"Wait a moment!" said Cornworthy, causing. Tonks attention to jerk back to the interview. "You couldn't have been watching her _all_ the time, not in a dingy place like the Toad."

Farley sniggered. "Well, I was doing my best to, mate. There wasn't much _else_ there worth looking at, like. Course, I lost sight of her every now and again, obviously. I think she must've nipped into the loo quite regular, she was knocking it back a bit. Might 'ave been throwing up, mind, I remember seeing her a couple of times looking a bit pale when she came out. Still 'ad er bottle with her though." He grinned, seemingly unaware of what he'd just said.

_Bottle?_ That rang a bell; Tonks was sure she could remember something about a bottle from the interview notes. She flipped through them quickly until she found it. "You said she was drinking from the bottle all night?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"Any bottle handy, or just one _specific_ bottle?"

"Same one, I think. Brought it with her, I reckon. Turned her nose up at the drinks in the pub. Wouldn't touch any of 'em – wouldn't even let me get her a glass for it. Finley didn't look as if he liked it much, but I can't say as I blame her, not at the Toad!" He was still grinning at the thought.

The Aurors exchanged glances. "Did she ever offer you – or anyone else – a drink from her bottle?" asked Cornworthy carefully.

"Nah. Wouldn't let me even touch it. She went and got me one in a glass, though." He lost the grin. "Must've been when the cow put that stuff in it, mustn't it? _She_ didn't like the look of it much."

"In what way, Mr Farley?" asked Cassius with interest.

"She 'eld the glass at arm's length, like it would contaminate her. Maybe it would, _I_ don't know 'ow that stuff works, do I? Thought she just didn't like what I was drinking, didn't I? Mind you, she didn't seem that keen on the whole bloody _pub_ – you should have seen the look on her face if she 'ad to touch anything, she was proper disgusted. I thought, listen love, if you've come in 'ere looking for a bit o' rough, you got to accept a bit o' mess, 'aven't you?"

Harris, who had been watching the Aurors keenly, piped up. "Has my client now answered these questions to your satisfaction?"

Cassius smiled at him. "I think he has, Mr Harris. Yes, I really think he has."

-----

_Friday 9__th__ October 1994_

Now that they had some reasonable leads, the mood of the team was much more positive at the end of the week that it had been at the start. There was still one very obvious question left, though, and as usual O'Gregan was the first to ask it out loud. "Have we got enough to take this to Old Man Scrimgeour yet?"

Cassius looked around. "I think so. It's still thin, but he'll want to know. You get an _instinct_ about these things after enough time on the job, and mine's telling me that this is the right answer. It looks very suspicious that no-one's told us about her connection to Mickey before."

"Will he authorise an arrest, do you think?" Tonks couldn't stop herself asking this; she was still unsure exactly what they could, or indeed should, get away with.

He shrugged. "I'm not sure. I don't want to be a killjoy, but even if he would, it might not help, Tonks … I'd imagine she would be quite capable of sitting tight and denying everything. And then we'd have let her know that we know, if you see what I mean." He forestalled the obvious next question that was already on her lips. "And if you're hoping that we can get permission to pour Veritaserum down her throat, I'd like a bit more evidence before asking the Wizengamot if we can have it. Even under the current nod-and-a-wink policy it would be a toss-up whether we got the warrant or not …"

"You call wrong, Cassius. You lose." Tonks' head jerked up in surprise at this bitter comment to see Bentley Williamson looking over the cubicle walls at them.

Cassius seemed equally astonished. "I don't suppose you'd like to tell me why, Bentley old chap?"

"Sure." He surprised Tonks by levering himself up and over the partition, his boots landing heavily on top of the notes on Cassius' desk (to its owner's obvious annoyance). He jumped down and perched on the edge, ponytail swinging. "The Wizened Lot –"

"Would it have killed you to walk round?" asked Rhiannon.

"Probably not, but hey, why take the risk? Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted –" Tonks, now she could see him closely, could detect his obvious underlying anger "– a little whisper in my ear from that nice bit of totty Marcie down in Administration Services tells me our wonderful magical council have decided to go back to the _old_ rules for warrants to 'avoid the danger of abuse'. Bunch of pillocks!"

Tonks wasn't the only one to give a yelp of dismay. "What _for?_" asked Cassius, forgetting his irritation.

"Because one of our oh-so-_bloody_-well-trained useless new Aurors – er, sorry Dora, present company excepted – got a warrant to investigate some poor sod who went missing presumed poncing about in a mask during that riot at the World Cup. Turned out he only got literally scared shitless and nipped off to look for a tent with a khazi that hadn't been blown up, but our lad was _so_ keen to find that out he couldn't be bothered to look at the rules – or even read what it said on the bloody bottle! So did he get someone from Mungo's to sign off on it like he was supposed to, and keep his stupid fat little arse covered? Oh no, pouring Veritaserum down the bloke's throat was _exactly_ what he did. Half a bottle of the bleeding stuff that he had in his pocket!"

The others winced. "Surely we can work around that, though?" said Rhiannon hopefully. "All right, it wasn't procedure, but if we apologise and wait for it to blow over?"

Williamson snorted, although he didn't sound amused. "You think so, Rhi? Unfortunately, the bloke got a bad reaction from it. Apparently he's now telling _everything_ he knows to anyone he sees, whether they bloody well ask him to or not. He's in St Mungo's, but I don't suppose they can do much – don't you just have to wait for it to wear off? Cassius?"

"I think so," said Cassius unhappily. "But even so, aren't the Wizengamot overreacting a little?"

He snorted again, even louder this time. "Not in _their_ mind. According to Marcie, this bloke was chief dogsbody and cauldron-washer to one of the Wittering Lot, and some of what he was yelling to all and sundry were things his boss wanted kept secret. You know, like the name of his mistress and the exact number of Galleons he was taking in backhanders. That reporter Rita Spittle, or whatever her bloody name is, was sniffing round last night trying to find out what was going on."

They groaned. O'Gregan swore, and everyone else nodded as if he'd expressed exactly what they were thinking.

"So all in all, Cassius, we Aurors aren't in their good books at the moment, and the buggers stick together. Especially as Scrimgeour hasn't caught any _real_ Death Eaters yet, however good a game he talks to old Boney." He jumped up. "Expect a memo by about noon at the latest. Well thank _you_, Albert bleeding Jenkins. I just hope you're on the way to a new and exciting career in the Centaur Office as soon as Scrimgeour gets to hear about it." Williamson stalked off, leaving a shell-shocked group of fellow Aurors behind him.

O'Gregan eventually broke the silence, slamming his fist onto the desk and letting loose with another stream of profanity. Nobody argued this time either. "We screwed this one up, didn't we?" he finished. "We didn't ask Farley the _right_ questions. We went after Portia hell for leather and forgot everything else … I'm sorry, Cassius." He looked it, too. Tonks suppressed a smile; a contrite Donnacha O'Gregan was a rare sight.

"What for, Don?"

"I'm _sorry_, Cassius. I got carried away with the idea that that pretty little rich girl was the one behind it for _real_, so I did, and if I hadn't dragged you all along we might have had this wrapped up by now!"

Rhiannon squeezed his hand. "Maybe, Donnie, maybe not, but at least it got Tonks into that shop to have ideas, didn't it?"

"Yeah, you've got to give me a chance to make the average quality of new recruits look a little better," she said with a brittle smile. _Poor old Albert. He never did pay enough attention. Hope he's going to be OK …_

"And I should have seen it before you did, Donnacha," said Cassius tiredly. "I was supposed to be in charge, after all; and now I come to think of it, I'm fairly sure I can _remember_ a case somewhat like this back in about 1950, where somebody bribed a barber. But don't beat yourself up over _Farley_ – we all know it's easy to miss the key question if you don't know to ask it, even when you have Truth Potion to help. And with everything else going on – the lead we had from Beatrice Easton –" Tonks winced "– the World Cup, the Death Eaters, Ballantyne getting murdered – we did perhaps lose focus a little."

"What are we going to do now then, Cassius?" asked Tonks, hoping he might be able to come up with a plan.

He grimaced. "Keep plugging away, unless we can think of something radical. Any more good ideas, Tonks?"

"Nah, afraid not." _Fresh out of them today, mate. Sorry._

"Is there anything we can do to lure them out?" asked Cornworthy.

O'Gregan suddenly perked up. "Arnie my boy, you're a genius!"

"I know," he said with a grin. "Er, in what way this time?"

The Irishman's broad smirk had returned. "Because Ben's not the only one who hears inside gossip, my lad! I get to hear little titbits from Ashford, and I know _just_ the thing we can bait a trap with …"

All the Aurors stared at O'Gregan. Cassius was the one to actually ask. "_What_ can we bait a trap with, old chap?"

O'Gregan continued to grin maniacally. "Remember the Ministry were handing out a licence to

import dangerous creatures? And remember old Ashford was the one who won it – just before he got the poisoned chocolates?"

Everybody tried hard to look as if they hadn't forgotten these pieces of information.

"So, I've been dropping round from time to time, keeping the poor old fellow company, you know – and he let slip the other day that the rules say the actual signing has to be done in the Ministry. So he's supposed to go in there at the end of the month, so he is. It's all being kept very hush-hush at the moment, because of his little problem with being a target …"

"… but if we drop hints about it in the right places, we can set a trap on our own ground!" finished Rhiannon. "Third time lucky! Brilliant, Donnie! Would they go for it, do you think?"

"I bet they would if we set it up right," said Tonks, catching the mood.

"Exactly! Ashford's been inaccessible for _ages_, they're not going to get a much better chance, are they?"

Cassius coughed. "Just a moment, Rhiannon. I'm not sure we want to _give_ them that chance." He seemed resigned to the looks of surprise that appeared on the faces of his team. "Can we _really_ ask the poor chap to risk himself? If Jacqueline Carrack or Mickey Ashford come up with another good plan, it might be third time lucky for _them_."

"Well yeah, but surely we're hoping to _catch_ them?" she argued.

"Even if we do, it might not be in time. That's the problem."

"Couldn't one of _us_ stand in for him?" asked O'Gregan hopefully. "We're trained, we'd stand a much better chance if something actually _did_ go wrong, would we not?" Tonks pricked up her ears at that suggestion. The job sounded tailor-made for her.

Cassius shook his head. "I'm not sure I like the idea of making an Auror a target either …"

"Come on, Cassius," said Tonks quietly. "Your must have been in that sort of situation plenty of times before. Hell, _I've_ been in that sort of situation before, when I was impersonating Beatrice Easton, and I've only just _got_ here."

"Yes, and you _scared_ me when you got into a four-on-one fight because of it, did you know that?" Tonks, taken aback, looked at him wide-eyed. "If I'd realised how squeamish I'd become about putting colleagues in danger, I would _never_ have agreed to let a novice be assigned to the case in the first place."

"Comes with the job, mate." O'Gregan looked, and sounded, unusually serious. "Don't beat yourself up over it, we all make mistakes, the thing is to learn and not make them the next time. That's what you told young Nymphadora here, isn't it?" Tonks bit back an urge to comment on his use of her first name. It wasn't the time.

"Well yes, you're right, but …" He stared at the younger man, his unhappiness evident. "Maybe I really _am_ getting too old for this job, Donnacha," he said quietly. "I've lost so many colleagues – so many _people_ I care about – seen so many lives get ruined when innocent bystanders were killed – that it's hard to risk another so … so _casually_."

Tonks, listening to him, had a sudden horrible thought.

"We're all big boys and girls now, we know what we're getting into," O'Gregan told him calmly. "And come on, Cassius; we may be a lot younger than you, but we weren't born _yesterday_, now. We're going to plan this; none of us are going to stick our heads in a dragon's maw without being damned confident we're not getting them bitten off."

Cassius turned his head away after a moment or two. "All right, Donnacha," he said with a sigh, rising from his chair. "You're making a fair point. Let's go and see our man, at least, and find out what _he_ thinks about the idea."

O'Gregan winked at the others as he and Cassius left for the lifts.

-----

_Monday 12__th__ October 1994_

Tonks had to work hard over the weekend to hide her excitement at the developments in the case.

The news from Cassius and O'Gregan when they returned had been mixed – Ashford, not surprisingly, had proven reluctant, and insisted on taking a few days to consider the idea. Which was all very well for _him_ …

She'd managed to conceal the fact that there had been developments from Chesney easily enough; she really didn't want him asking awkward questions about the situation of his old friend. Fortunately, as it happened he could be easily, and pleasantly, distracted. Unfortunately, her parents knew her far too well, and when she visited them for Sunday lunch immediately realised that _something_ was happening. Even worse, they drew the natural conclusion that it had something to do with her cousin's case, and it took a lot of fast talking to convince them otherwise. Tonks was left feeling slightly guilty that she had no news, and had an uncomfortable impression that they would ask for some every time she saw them from now on.

Monday, however, did bring news. O'Gregan announced in jovial tones as soon as they met that Ashford had finally agreed to the plan, albeit with reluctance.

"Daft sod was planning a quick in-and-out for the signing, but to be fair _he_ didn't like the idea of putting one of us in the firing line either," he told them. "I managed to talk him round, like Cassius here –" the older Auror muttered something about 'blarney' "– but then he objected that he didn't want to have to wait till some other time to sign, so we had to tell him … now what was that legal thing again, Cassius?"

"I told him I was sure his legal representatives and ours could set up an assignment of attorney specifically restricted to the one action of signing, and make it legally and magically binding," said Cassius tiredly. "The DRCMC people probably won't like the idea much, but I'm sure they'll realise it's preferable to the risk of their contractor being murdered on Ministry premises. That _would_ tend to discourage tenders next time around."

"Excellent!" said Tonks. "When's the signing ceremony, Don?"

"Wednesday the twenty-eighth. Nine in the morning. _More_ than enough time to get all the kinks out of the plan."

"We have a plan?" asked Rhiannon, strolling up, conjuring an extra chair and flopping down on it. "Where did we find one of those, then?"

O'Gregan looked at his girlfriend with dignity. "Now, my love, you _know_ I have just spent my whole weekend working. You surely cannot have thought I was but sitting back and scratching my arse while waiting for Ashford to make his mind up."

"That'd make a change, then. So what's this wonderful plan of yours?"

"Well, it so happens, the room they normally use for these things is hidden away in the depths of Level Four. One door, off a corridor, easy to watch …"

"What happens if one of them's Polyjuiced again? I bet they will be if they try it."

"Doesn't matter, my sweet. We know their names. However they arrive, they have to come through the Atrium. We can pick them up on the security map as soon as they do and watch them all the way. Our impostor waits in the room and as soon as they do anything suspicious – like trying to gain access to a private room where some important fellows are signing a big contract – we can pick them up."

"Will Ashford be OK with me being around his place a lot, Don, do you think?" asked Tonks.

"Why would you be doing that?" asked Cassius, glancing at her sharply.

"Well, I might as well make myself useful," she said. "Pretending to look like someone else is my speciality, isn't it?"

"But it's a _bloke_, Tonks!" said Rhiannon, amused. "You can't do a sex change with that Metamorphosing thing, can you?"

Tonks scowled. "No, but I can change the size and shape of what I _have_ got more or less how I like. Oh, stop _sniggering_, Don! I've pretended to be a man before. And I'd be wearing robes, it's not like I'd need to change more than the face and hands. An elderly man's a bit more of a challenge with all the wrinkles and stuff, but I could probably look like a _house-elf_ if I really wanted!"

"A challenge you won't be facing, Tonks," said Cassius, shaking his head. "You won't be the one impersonating Ashford. _I_ will."

"What?" said Tonks. "How?"

"Polyjuice Potion would seem to be the obvious method," he said, shrugging. "Take a leaf out of our criminals' book."

"But why not …"

"… let you do it?" He smiled sadly. "Because there's always a chance that something might go wrong, and they might actually _get_ to whoever plays the part. And if that happens, I'd much rather it happen to me, who's already _had_ a life, not one of you young people who are just starting out."

"Cassius …"

He held up a hand to forestall her. "No. _No arguments, Tonks_. This is an order. I'm not prepared to risk _any_ of you on this. I'll be the one taking Polyjuice, end of story. If you're worried about me, just concentrate on catching them _before_ they can do anything."

"If they even make the attempt, of course," Rhiannon pointed out before Tonks could argue any further. "Do you think there's a chance they'll just shut up shop? Not take the risk of a third attempt with all the security around Ashford?"

"That would be sensible of them, but … no," he replied. "I'd imagine they won't be able to bear the thought of all the effort they've put in being wasted on failures. They'll try again at _some_ point, I'm sure of it. Just like your serial killer. We have to hope that they see _this_ as a good opportunity."

"How do we get the information to them without being too obvious?" asked Tonks, a little chastened by Cassius' insistence. He seemed to brighten up a little as he considered this.

"Well, we do have one or two tame reporters on the _Prophet_. I'm sure they'd be willing to write a little story that gives the impression that the information has been released by mistake. Perhaps just a mention of the award of the contract, and that the signing will be in the Ministry, as if someone had copied it from official records without noticing that the man concerned had been in the news recently. Make them work to find out the details."

"Perhaps Ashford himself could leak something to Mickey as corroboration?"

Cassius seemed sceptical. "Well, perhaps. We'll ask him when we go to get his signature."


	22. No One Is Quite The Way They Seem

**21. No-One Is Quite The Way They Seem**

_Wednesday 14__th__ October 1994_

Ashford greeted Tonks and Cassius with an air of resignation when they arrived at his house a couple of days later. "Come in then, if you must," he told them. "Have you got the document to sign?"

"Yes, Mr Ashford." Cassius handed him what had turned out to be a surprisingly long piece of parchment, once all the disclaimers and binding charms insisted upon by the legal representatives of both parties had been added.

Ashford scanned it with an expert eye and then nodded. "That all seems to be in order." Tonks was thoroughly impressed; she'd lost track somewhere around the fourth 'heretofore' of the sixth sub-sub-clause. He began to rummage around in a desk drawer without enthusiasm looking for a quill, and Tonks had a feeling that it would require a lot of persuasion to convince him to leak the details to Mickey.

"How come the Ministry have decide to hand out an import licence, anyway?" she asked brightly, for the sake of getting him talking.

"Some political thing," he told her absently, still searching. "If they import creatures _directly_, the rules say they have to inform the Muggle government. On the other hand, if they place a contract through a private dealer, they don't have to bother. It'll cost them more money this way, but I'm not complaining. That sort of bureaucracy paid for everything in this room."

"I see. No, don't blame you, it's nice stuff you've got in here – in fact it's a nice _house_ altogether. Have you had it long?"

He found the quill and turned to her with a sad expression. "Forty years. I brought the kids up here after their parents were killed. I never thought any of them would turn out … the way they have." Tonks' face fell; evidently she hadn't picked the best topic for light conversation. "You know, I was so _happy_ when Charlie passed the Veritaserum test? I should have known there'd be another storm just around the corner. I never believed _Mickey_ would do this either."

"We're sorry, Mr Ashford," said Cassius quietly.

He snorted. "So am I, Smethwyck. So am I." He did indeed seem under strain, but to Tonks' eye, he wasn't as crushed as he had been in the hospital. That puzzled her for a moment, until he continued, "I suppose it's a little easier – or a little less hard, anyway – the second time you hear it. I've got used to the idea. I'm never going to like it."

Tonks and Cassius exchanged worried glances. It didn't sound at all likely that Ashford would be willing to set his nephew up. "You didn't suspect him then?" she asked.

Ashford gave her a bleak look. "Not really, no. Oh, it's easy to be paranoid when something like this happens. I suspected everyone I'd ever been in contact with – relatives, friends, business rivals. Hid myself away here. But I never seriously thought it would be any of the kids. You know, I really, _really_ hoped it would turn out to be that idiot Witherspoon getting mad over the contract? But _Mickey_ …" He sighed. "He's always been a bit of a wastrel, I knew that, but I never thought he'd turn out _this_ way. Maybe that girlfriend of his put him up to it," he added hopefully.

"Very possibly," said Tonks, trying to sound sympathetic. Privately, she suspected that Mickey had been just as enthusiastic about the idea even if Jacqueline Carrack had been the brains of the operation, but it didn't seem like a good time to say so.

"I don't like to ask this, Mr Ashford …" began Cassius.

"But I bet you're going to," he said flatly.

"… er, yes, I'm afraid so … We really need to get the information about where and when you'll be going there to Mickey, so …"

"No."

"I'm sorry?"

"_No_, Smethwyck. Just … no. I can't do it." He threw his hands up in a helpless sort of gesture. "I'm letting you set this trap up – against my better judgement – but I … no. I _won't_ lure him in myself. Not my little Mickey. Please?" he added, sounding surprisingly plaintive.

Cassius studied him for a few moments, and then sighed. "Very well, Mr Ashford. I can see your point. We can probably do this some other way. But please consider it in case we can't." He picked up the signed parchment and nodded towards Tonks. "Come on then, young lady. We've got things to do."

Tonks smiled in vague sympathy at Ashford as they left, hoping that Cassius really had judged him correctly. She wasn't sure who _else_ might help.

-----

_Friday 16__th__ October 1994_

"_Charlotte?_"

"Yes, why not?" Cassius looked surprised.

"Well, because she hates our guts, maybe? She's never wanted to help us before."

"She wasn't aware that her cousin had tried to get her sent to Azkaban for his own crimes before," he pointed out. "And she agreed to come into the Department again to meet us, that has to be significant, surely?"

"Er, yeah, I suppose so." Tonks sipped at her coffee, wondering if Charlotte Perks would really turn up, but barely had time to check her watch before their invitee was shown into the interview room, to the accompaniment of an _I-told-you-so_ wink from Cassius.

"What do you want then, Smethwyck?" she asked brusquely.

Cassius outlined his ideas to a grim-faced Charlotte, who as far as Tonks could see wasn't any happier with them than her uncle had been. When he'd finished, she stared at him tight-lipped.

"So let me get this right," she said eventually. "You want me to pretend Uncle's told me about this meeting of his because he trusts me now after you gave me that … that _stuff_, and to tell Abby about it ever-so-casually, in the expectation that _she'll_ pass it on to Mickey because she always does?"

"That's a very good summary, yes," said Cassius politely. "Do you think it will work?"

It wasn't the question Tonks would have asked first – _will you do it, please, pretty please?_ was more what she had in mind – and Charlotte seemed to feel the same way. Her nostrils flared. "Oh I'm sure it'll _work_, Smethwyck," she said acidly. "Abby's a meek little thing but she gossips, if Mickey asks her she'll tell him. What I want to know is why the hell you think I'd do it for _you?_"

"Because it's necessary?" put in Tonks, almost apologetically. "I know you don't like us, Charlotte – can't blame you, really – but well, you know _something's_ got to be done before they try again. And maybe succeed this time."

Charlotte stared at her for quite a while, then sat back in her chair in resignation. "Yes, I _do_ know that, you're right. But why _me_? Why do you bastards want _family_ to betray him?"

"There's no choice," said Tonks with a shrug. "No-one wants a family betrayal –" she shivered a little, as she always did when the subject arose "– but you're smart enough to know it has to be done. And to be brutally honest, it's not like he didn't start it."

"You think I should be looking for revenge on the little bleeder?" She shook her head. "Maybe I should. Portia keeps telling me I shouldn't feel bad about helping to stop him, and of course she's right, but …"

"Please?" said Tonks simply (she didn't dare add the 'pretty please' in case Charlotte took it for mockery). Cassius nodded, and as Charlotte looked back and forth between them her shoulders slumped.

"Oh all _right_," she said in a small voice. "I _hate_ this, but I'll tell Abby what you want me to tell her. _Don't_ ask me to do any more, though."

"We won't," said Cassius. Charlotte Perks examined him closely and seemed to feel he was sincere, as she nodded in acknowledgement. He looked relieved. "Good. Thank you. If you'll excuse me, I have people to see. Tonks, if you would be so kind as to show Miss Perks out?"

An awkward silence fell between the two women as they walked down the corridor. Charlotte was the one who broke it. "I gather you've been seeing Ches?" she said in neutral tones.

"Oh … er, yes," said Tonks, startled by both the abrupt question and its subject matter. "I didn't know you knew about it?"

Charlotte snorted. "He came to check on me the other day. Said he'd heard bad things had been happening to me from what you told him and wanted to see if I was all right. Is that the latest Auror tactic then, seduce your suspect's friends and pump them for information?"

"No, it isn't!" snapped Tonks. "For _your_ information, I tried to avoid telling him anything about you. I didn't _want_ him thinking something like that, when it's not true at all." She hesitated, then with a touch of defiance added, "He asked _me_ out, as it happens, and I actually like him a lot, for what that's worth. He's a nice bloke."

"Yes, he is." Her face broke into a reluctant half-smile. "And he seems to think you're a nice girl, and likes _you_ a lot too, so I suppose I'll have to trust his judgement on that. Even if you are a Ministry hack spouting the official line. I mean that in the nicest possible way, of course."

Tonks gave her a uncertain look. She didn't think _spouting the official line_ was a particularly good description of some of her recent behaviour, but now wasn't the time to talk about that. "Well, thank you," she said, putting as much irony into her tone as she could manage. "I'm glad you were so kind as to tell me."

"Don't mention it."

They stepped into the lift to make their way back to the Atrium. This time it was Tonks, unable to contain her curiosity, who broke the silence with a personal question. "Charlotte? This isn't an official inquiry or anything like that, so don't answer if you don't want to, but … well, you and Portia? You seem such an … unlikely couple."

Charlotte looked at her. "What – you mean our differences in age, brains, and social standing?"

"Well, yes," said Tonks uncomfortably. "Doesn't it bother you? Or her?"

She wasn't sure Charlotte would answer, but as the lift slowed and came to a halt she said shortly, "I worried about the age – Portia didn't. She worried about the brains – I didn't. Neither of us give a toss about social standing, except she doesn't want to embarrass her parents until she can somehow get them used to the idea. And you forget – she's a sweet person, and … well, I'm not, I know, but I do at least try to be a bit less than a total cow. It _works_, despite our differences – it was totally unexpected, but it just _works_, dammit. And we're _happy_ that it works. Isn't that enough?"

"I suppose." Tonks considered this, and was surprised to find that she rather agreed with her. "Actually, yeah, it is." She offered Charlotte her hand which, after a moment's hesitation, was shaken. "Look. Thanks anyway for agreeing to do this."

Charlotte shook her head. "I don't _like_ it – but I'm not so stubborn that I don't know it's got to stop, if you're right. You do realise I'm still hoping you're wrong and Mickey is OK really?"

"I know, but …" She shrugged helplessly.

"Yeah, I know. I feel the same. Erm, Nymphadora?"

Tonks winced inwardly, but said "Yes?"

Charlotte Perks spoke with real effort. "Good luck."

-----

_Monday 19__th__ October 1994_

Tonks had never expected to be deeply involved in the planning of a multi-departmental sting operation a few short months into her career as an Auror. Now that she was, she couldn't help but catch the air of excitement among the team as their plans slowly came together. Everyone assured her that it was much the same however long you'd been in the job.

As expected, the senior people in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had taken a great deal of convincing before they were willing to let their offices be used, but had eventually come around. Cassius reported back to the team that Will Poppleford and Beatrice Easton had been designated as the Aurors' contacts.

"_Beatrice?_" asked Tonks in surprise. "I can understand getting Will on board, he knows us and we can trust him, but why _her?_"

"Well, as a matter of fact it was because I asked for her," said Cassius. At the sight of Tonks' raised eyebrows, he added, "I wanted someone who already knew about Liquor of Jacmel, and so understood the significance of what we'll be doing. And frankly, I wanted someone who wouldn't be at all inclined to gossip on the subject. Her actions with regard to the supplier don't really stand up to close scrutiny, and she's only too willing to make amends. Don't worry, I haven't told her the _details_ of our plans, just that we're setting a trap."

"Not to mention that if we catch Mickey and Mascarra – er sorry, Carrack, I still keep thinking of her as Marcella Mascarra – it might give us a lead to that 'Butler' bloke," added Tonks. "Beatrice can't be feeling especially safe with him still on the loose, especially after what happened to Ballantyne – assuming that _was_ him?"

Cassius snorted. "No, I don't think there's any doubt that the Butler did it. Unfortunately, that doesn't help in the slightest. It's the converse of _this_ case, ironically enough – we know who must have done it, we just don't know their _identity_. But you're right, either Mickey Ashford or Jacqueline Carrack must have done business with him to get the Jacmel they used. So if we catch them, we may catch him in turn."

"How about the Atrium security?" asked Cornworthy.

"They'll help keep a watch out for her on that map o' theirs," said O'Gregan. "That fellow Eric Munch will be on duty, and he's promised to let my darling girl here sit in the back room to let us know if either of them shows up."

"And even if they arrive during the morning rush and we lose them in the foyer, we'll be able to pick her up once they get to Level Four," added Rhiannon, frowning at him. "Not as many people around there …"

Cassius rapped on the table for attention. "That's all very well, but we need to decide how we're going to be in a position to catch them if they try anything. We can station people at the key points of the Magical Creatures Department all over Level Four, but we don't know exactly _what_ they'll try or _where_ they'll try it."

"Just have someone tail them when they get here?" suggested O'Gregan.

"How, though, Don?" asked Cornworthy. "That's a good point Cassius made – even if they bite, we can't tell what their plan will be. There _is_ a sort of reception area on Level Four – we could have someone there to pick them up when they come out of the lift – but if they try to get to the room itself, well, that's a narrow corridor outside and someone following would be obvious. If they realise, they could just walk straight on past the door and we wouldn't really have anything on them."

"We'll just get out the old Invisibility Cloak again, Arnie," O'Gregan reassured him.

"But that wouldn't necessarily help," argued Cassius. "As Arnold says, that corridor is _narrow_ – if they bumped into someone invisible there, or in some other cramped area, it would be rather a giveaway, wouldn't it?"

"Someone they won't pay any attention to, then?" said Rhiannon. "Someone who looks like they're just there doing their own thing?"

Everyone looked stumped. "I'm not sure who _could_ be invisible enough to be ignored without actually _being_ invisible," said Tonks eventually.

"Yeah, so unless we had a spare house-elf or something …" O'Gregan trailed off. They all turned to look at Tonks, whose jaw dropped as she realised what they were thinking.

"What? No! _No way!_"

"But you said yourself, you thought you could look like one if you wanted to," pointed out Rhiannon, a huge grin starting to spread across her face.

"That doesn't mean I _do_ want to!" cried Tonks.

Cassius held a hand up for quiet, although he too couldn't keep from smiling. "Just a minute. Tonks, can a Metamorphmagus actually _do_ that? I've never been sure exactly what your limits are."

"Well … I suppose an elf's basically humanoid, so in theory it should be possible to get the look, more or less," said Tonks, with great reluctance. She could see this providing material for jokes at her expense for at least the next decade. "I could probably make my ears big and scrunch up my face and hold it for a while. Not sure about the height though."

"How big or small can you actually go?" asked Rhiannon, with simple curiosity.

"About half or double my real height," admitted Tonks. "Perhaps two and a half to three feet tall on the low side? Any more than that and the strain gets a bit too much – the Healers I talked to when I first found out I could do this said I might do myself some damage if I tried. _And_ it gets quite painful to … well, _compress_ myself like that for any great length of time. A few hours is about the limit, and even then I'm going to be aching all over the following morning!"

"A hour or two would be more than enough. Three feet is on the tall side for a house-elf, but not impossibly so …" mused Cassius. "You know, this might actually be a worthwhile experiment? In my experience, nobody actually _looks_ at a house-elf when they have their mind on something else, not even Muggle-borns. Rhiannon, would you help Tonks with this and see if it could work?"

"Oh, I'd love to," said Rhiannon, seizing Tonks' arm and grinning broadly. "Come on, Nymphadora dear. Let's go and find out what you can do!"

Tonks followed her out of the room with a feeling of immense trepidation.

-----

_Wednesday 21__st__ October 1994_

"Gentlemen, allow me to present … er, Tonky!" Rhiannon waved her arms in a flourish as Tonks walked into the office, trying not to feel too self-conscious. She was quite proud of herself for getting the look down pat in such a short space of time; but on the other hand, she was currently three feet high, with enormous ears, and dressed in a teatowel, which left her feeling both uncomfortable and exceptionally stupid

The others applauded, although their twitching lips made Tonks sure that someone was going to start laughing soon. Sure enough, O'Gregan said "Nice towel, Tonky," and that set everyone off, including Rhiannon Davies, who was leaning against him holding her sides.

She scowled. _Et tu, Rhiannon?_ "One more crack like that, Don, and you can find some _other_ idiot to do it."

"Just trying to help you get into your role, so I was. I is thinking you is not quite getting the speech patterns yet. Now then Tonky, would you toddle off and get a pot of tea for the masters and mistress, there's a good elf?"

Tonks glared up at him. "Master can be shutting his gob now. Or Master might be getting it hexed off."

"Ah, but you house-elves can't have wands, now can you?" he said, smirking. "What a shame."

A very un-elflike evil grin spread across Tonks' face. "Oh, but Tonky is not needing a wand, Master. She is being a house-elf. She is just doing magic like _this!_"

She pointed her index finger at the Ballycastle Bats badge pinned to O'Gregan's robes. There was a loud _bang_ as it Transfigured into a real bat, which squeaked loudly and flew away across the office, drawing startled looks and ribald jeers from the other cubicles. Everybody except Rhiannon jumped in shock and stopped laughing.

"How … how did you do that?" asked O'Gregan weakly. "You surely cannot _really_ get house-elf powers when you make yourself look like one?"

Tonks smiled mysteriously for a few moments, but then took pity on him. "No. Look." She scraped at her arm, and peeled off a suddenly visible strip of cloth, revealing her wand fixed underneath. "Latest development of that wand holder gadget Portia's dad sells. K managed to wangle a prototype. Extended range invisibility spell on the cloth to hide the wand as well. The ideal solution for the discerning witch or wizard who find themselves in a situation where it's necessary to carry a wand while appearing to be bare-armed – or at least, that's how the adverts will read."

"I'll say," said O'Gregan, still looking rather disconcerted by what had happened to his badge. "Handy."

"You bet," said Cornworthy with respect. "You know, I'm beginning to get a good feeling about this plan?" Cassius raised his eyebrows. "No, I _am_, Cassius. Everything seems to be coming together nice and smoothly."

-----

_Tuesday 27__th__ October 1994_

By the time the following Tuesday evening rolled around, even Cassius had been forced to admit that things seemed to be perfectly in order for the following morning.

When the team gathered, Cornworthy reported with glee that the door of Marcella Mascarra's premises had acquired a notice saying that the shop would be closed the following day due to private bookings. Even better, and against all expectation, low-key investigations had turned up one of her customers who had been 'seen' in Lore of Yore on a day she could prove she was elsewhere. And the local Aurors had managed to uncover some interesting gossip about her previous boyfriend – who was rumoured to be involved in nefarious activity; and not too keen on her seeing anyone else.

"Good job she and Mickey kept it quiet, then," sniggered O'Gregan. "Mind you, it gave them the chance to try this without anybody _knowing_ they were linked, so maybe it's a pity, so it is."

"Yes, well, never mind that for now, Donnacha," said Cassius. "Is everything ready?"

"Absolutely, old son," he said. "Rhi will be in place in the map room to watch the arrivals – neither of them have Apparition licences, but even if they've learned illegally they've still got to come through the Atrium. Ashford sends this fine vintage –" he handed Cassius a bottle of muddy-looking liquid "– which has got what _you_ want. Arnie and myself will be stationed near the secondary entrances to the level, and we've drafted in some people from the Patrol to help us watch the other key points. And little Tonky here is ready to do her shrinking stuff when needed." Tonks gave him another death glare, which was ignored.

"Very well. In that case, I've only got a couple of things to add. Firstly, if you would all give me your watches, please."

Mystified, Tonks joined the rest in handing hers over. Cassius touched his own watch with his wand, muttered "_Proteus_," and quickly tapped each of the others in turn. Tonks realised when he handed them back that they now had an identical appearance, including of course the time on the dial.

"Cool," she said, privately hoping that _Finite Incantatem_ would work to restore them to normal afterwards.

"Thank you. Now then, we'll all be in different parts of the Ministry, but communications are important, and we need something a little less obvious than those mirror phones …"

"What then?" asked Rhiannon.

In answer, Cassius opened a small bag that was lying on the table and shook out a number of small flesh-coloured tubes, about half an inch long. "I wasn't sure if we still used these, but fortunately K had some left in stock," he said proudly. "'Earworms', we used to call them."

"Ew!" said Tonks. "Cassius, you realise that's disgusting, don't you?"

"Probably." He smiled. "If you slip them in your ear, you can hear what anyone else who has one is saying. The charm only works at short range, I'm afraid, but within the confines of the Ministry building we shouldn't have any problem. One for each of us and one for Mary Edgecombe in the Floo Network office – she's promised to keep a watch on the fireplaces for us. Try to keep the rest of us up to date on anything potentially important that's going on."

O'Gregan and Rhiannon exchanged awkward glances; Cassius noticed and said with delicacy, "You might want to wait until tomorrow morning to start using them. Try to keep the chatter to a minimum, people, they're quite loud and we don't want to give everyone a headache. Now then, are you all sure what you have to do?"

They all nodded.

"Good. Go and get a decent night's sleep, then, and report back here at six-thirty tomorrow morning. Chop chop."

-----

_Wednesday 28__th__ October 1994_

By half past seven the following morning, Tonks was loitering unobtrusively in her house-elf disguise in the wide foyer of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. True to expectations, none of the witches and wizards hurrying through to begin their daily departmental tasks gave the 'magical creature' waiting there so much as a second glance.

She could hear occasional comments via the Earworm from other members of the team, but nothing of great interest. She began to tense up slightly as the hands on her watch neared eight o'clock. If either Mickey Ashford or Jacqueline Carrack intended to make their way into the Ministry, the morning rush hour would be an excellent choice of time to do so.

Sure enough, at eleven minutes to eight, there was a cry from Rhiannon Davies. "Ha! Got her! _Carrack!_"

"Where?" Several voices spoke at once.

"She's in the …" This was followed by loud swearing – so loud it drew cries of protest, which only made things more painful. "Sorry, everyone!" came Rhiannon's voice after a moment or two, sounding frustrated. "I thought I saw her pop up at the visitors' entrance, but she's not there now, and she's not in the lift. Maybe I got it wrong."

"Or maybe she simply balked at being asked to state her name and business and decided to try another way in," said Cassius sharply. "Get someone to go up and check."

"Hang on a second." Tonks could hear Rhiannon calling to the watchwizard; there was a short pause and then her voice came through again. "Eric didn't see her come through the Atrium, but he was distracted by some idiot asking a question. And she could look like anybody, anyway." She hesitated. "I'm not totally sure I read the name right. I was looking at the Floo arrivals, I only just saw it out of the corner of my eye."

Cassius spoke again. "All right. Keep looking. Mary, could she have decided to try entering the Ministry by Floo instead? Is there a trace for her?" He paused, but there was no reply. "Mary? Are you there?" There was still no comment from Mary Edgecombe, and Tonks could hear Cassius mutter in annoyance.

Tonks waited with even greater anticipation than before at what was at least the first hint of a bite. From where she stood against the wall she scrutinised the people passing by as closely as she could, on the off-chance that she might pick out Carrack just from her body language, but without much expectation of success. Rhiannon Davies would _definitely_ be watching the Level Four foyer on the map.

At the edge of her attention, she could hear one side of a frustrated conversation that Cassius was carrying on with somebody in the Floo Network Authority offices down on Level Six. Evidently Mary Edgecombe was _not_ at her desk, although apparently her borrowed mirror phone and Earworm had been left there. The person on the other end didn't seem to know where she was or what they were supposed to do about it. Tonks smiled, then jumped suddenly at a voice coming from a short distance away.

"You there! Elf! What are you doing?"

Startled, she turned to see a Ministry wizard with a scrubby beard, who was carrying a large stack of parchment. She remembered him vaguely as having been with Barty Crouch's group at the World Cup campsite, and only just managed to bite back her first instinctive response and stay in character. "Oh … oh, I is doing nothing sir! I is just waiting here for orders, Master!"

The wizard examined her critically. "You're one of the Ministry elves, are you? I hope you're not slacking off."

Tonks shook her head frantically, hoping that was what house-elves did. She remembered just in time to let her oversized ears droop slightly.

"Well, _I've_ got orders for you," he said, pushing the parchment into her hands with a stern expression on his face. "Take these to the Department of International Magical Co-operation, next floor down. Tell them we have an important contract signing ceremony today and we need one of their representatives to sign off on these papers. Got that?"

"Yes – I, er, you is wanting me to go downstairs and be getting these papers signing by the Department of Magical Co-operating, Master," said Tonks – improvising rapidly, with a fervent wish that house-elves had learnt to speak using everyday English grammar. "But I should is be waiting here, sir …"

"Why? Didn't you just say you didn't have any orders?"

"Well … yes I is saying that, sir …" She looked around, flustered. This little scene was attracting far too much attention.

She could hear muffled curses from Cassius through her Earworm. "Oh, just go and do what he wants," he said quietly. "Arnold, send that Patrol fellow near you to take over from her. Tonks, stall until he comes, and be _quick_. Luckily, it's quite early, and our target doesn't appear to have got here yet. _Damn_."

The Ministry wizard was still looking at her through narrowed eyes. She drew herself up to her full height (currently not an especially impressive gesture). "But that is not mattering, Master! I is good house-elf and will … is happy to do what is needing to be signed …"

"Yes, yes, all right," he said in irritation. "You don't need to make all this fuss over it, elf, just go and _do_ it."

Tonks spotted a face she recognised at the other end of the foyer, one of the people from the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol who had been with them when they captured Barry Lewis, and breathed a silent sigh of relief. "Yes, Master! I is going!" She dashed towards the lifts as quickly as she could run.

-----

There were far more people actually at work in the Department of International Magical Co-operation than there had been during her previous visit. She rapidly reviewed her options for getting the papers signed without argument, smiled briefly, and skidded to a halt in front of Percy Weasley's desk.

"Sir, I is being sent by Magical Creature Wizards to ask important International Magically Co-operational Wizards to sign papers! Can Master do this please?"

The redheaded young man seemed almost to preen. He took the top sheet of parchment from her hands and read through it carefully. "I see … Yes, of course I can. Just wait there." He wrote his signature meticulously at the bottom.

Tonks could hear Cassius' voice in her ear again, broadcasting to the team, "Listen everybody, William Poppleford's just reminded me that his Departmental bigwigs and a representative from the Press will be here shortly, so I need to get myself into character, as it were. We'll be in the little anteroom. Keep me informed."

There were murmurs of assent from O'Gregan and Cornworthy; Tonks took one look at Percy Weasley and decided to keep her mouth shut. She fought an impulse to groan and shuffle her feet as she watched. He was carefully reading _every_ sheet before signing it.

Rhiannon Davies' voice now came through. "I don't think you need rush, Cassius. Eric here has shown me how to narrow things down on the map, and neither Ashford not Carrack are showing _anywhere_. Might have scared her off?"

"That could be …" Cassius was interrupted by a new voice, female, that Tonks didn't recognise.

"Cassius? Did you want me for something?"

"Ah, Mary! Good. I just wanted to know if your people had spotted anything, but they said you were away from your desk and had left the Earworm behind?"

"I just nipped out to the Ladies, if you _must_ know," she said stiffly. "I'm afraid this girl in there delayed me a little. She was looking terribly queasy, poor thing. Of course, I stopped to ask if she was all right, but she just snapped 'fine' and dashed off. No _manners_ these days. Anyway, to cut a long story short, we've seen nothing happening in the Ministry fireplaces that'd be of any interest to you. All right?"

"Good. Thank you Mary …" He tailed off; Tonks, watching with frustration as Percy Weasley painstakingly read yet another document, was surprised when he continued with more urgency. "Wait a minute. This girl. What did she look like?" Tonks was confused for a moment, then her heart sank as it dawned on her what he might be getting at.

"Oh, I don't know, I didn't really pay much attention," said the Edgecombe woman, sounding a little put out. "Youngish, brown hair, average height, quite nice looking I suppose …"

"Cassius? Are you thinking that this girl might be Carrack in some disguise?" put in O'Gregan

"I wouldn't be at all surprised," he said, echoing Tonks' suspicions. _That would make sense, go into the Department of Magical Transportation to change, members of the public are in and out of there all the time doing Apparition tests and stuff …_

"I've finished with these, elf," said Percy Weasley, interrupting her train of thought.

"What? Oh, yes, er, Tonky is thanking you Master!" she squeaked. She practically grabbed the parchment from the disapproving redhead and ran out of the Department towards the lifts. She briefly considered discarding the papers, but settled for shrinking them using her concealed wand and tucking them inside her teatowel.

She could hear the team arguing in her ear. "She _can't_ have been Carrack, Don, I'd have _seen_ her on the bloody map!" came in furious protest from Rhiannon. "I am looking _carefully_ down here, Cassius!"

Tonks relaxed slightly at what seemed to be a fair point, and began to move at a more sedate pace back towards the lifts, trying to shake off an uneasy feeling that there was _something_ she'd overlooked. She sighed at the queue that had formed; a house-elf would hardly push to the front, although with a bit of luck she might be able to squeeze into a small gap …

"Tonks?" Cassius was calling her. "Where are you?" He sounded slightly queasy himself, and she suspected that he'd just swallowed his own dose of Polyjuice. She checked her watch surreptitiously; it said eight thirty-two, which should give him ample time to get everything done.

"Tonky is good elf and is just waiting for the lifts," she muttered, mindful of the company. Fortunately, none of them were interested in a house-elf apparently talking to itself.

"Good. Oh, and Rhiannon – my apologies. I was worried for a moment."

"Thank you," she said, not without heat. "Or do you think Sirius sodding _Black_ is wandering about the place as well without us being able to see him on the map?"

"Of _course_ not. I'm sorry. Excuse me, Rhiannon. I'm trying very hard not to lose my breakfast at the moment …"

Tonks felt a sudden chill as Rhiannon's words registered; she suddenly remembered discussing with Kingsley Shacklebolt the possibility of Sirius Black not showing up on a security map. _Oh bugger … _She spotted a nearby stationery cupboard and ducked into it out of sight. "Rhi? Cassius? Listen," she said quietly. "I've just thought – that book that appeared at Lore of Yore! Could _Carrack_ have been the one who sold it back?"

"_What_ book?" came from several mystified voices after a moment or two.

"'_How Not To Be Seen_' – I remember making a bloody _note_ of it on the watch list! It went into detail about Nonlocatability Spells, and you can use them to keep you off those maps, can't you?"

"Oh _bugger_." That was Cassius' voice, to her surprise. "You're right. I'd completely forgotten about that – I suppose I didn't imagine anybody would know that!" She heard him suddenly groan in anguish. "The _visitors entrance_, Rhiannon! She appeared and then disappeared – if I remember correctly it's a reactive charm, you have to step _inside_ the mapped area first before you can cast it!"

Tonks groaned too, but then she realised that if Carrack had left the Department of Magical Transportation some time ago, she was wasting time sitting in a cupboard discussing it when she needed to be in position elsewhere. She threw open the door and jumped out, to startled and disapproving looks from the people in the Level Five corridor, which she ignored. _Tonky is very sorry but it is time she is throwing caution to the winds, people._ "I'm on my way back!" she cried aloud, using her small size to weave her way through to the lifts.

"You mean she might have been wandering around inside the Ministry for the last three-quarters of an hour got up as _anybody at all?_" That was Cornworthy, in a rather strained voice.

"No problem," came from O'Gregan, somewhat mordantly. "Just look for someone wearing a badge saying _Jacqueline Carrack, Murder Attempt_ and we've no problem, now …"

There were some mutterings that sounded very like Rhiannon Davies talking to someone without an Earworm, and then she came back, loud and clear. "Don? It's even worse than that! Eric tells me that nobody actually _checks_ what the charm records when you arrive at the visitors entrance. She could have told it anything she liked and no-one would notice. We won't even have a _record_ of her arrival!"

"Oh _bugger_." This time it came from several voices, including Tonks. The people around her looked scandalised at the unusually foul-mouthed house-elf, but she didn't care; the lift had arrived and she jumped in as soon as it stopped.

"I'm on my way back now," she muttered as quietly as she could, leaning against the wall of the lift and taking a few deep breaths as it made the short journey to the next floor up. "You can send that Patrolman back when I get there …"

She jumped out as soon as the door opened. To her alarm and confusion, the Patroller who had been sent to cover for her didn't seem to be there any more – although the wizard with the scrubby beard was, talking to a witch that Tonks recognised after a moment as Honoria Biggar (she was surprised she hadn't heard her from the floor below). She quickly expanded the papers and stuffed them into the wizard's hand. "Tonky has the papers signed for Master but Tonky is very sorry that she is being given orders to wait here now!" she said, all in one breath, then stationed herself next to the lift, and prepared to wait.

Nothing happened for about a minute and a half, except for some mutterings from the bearded wizard and some unflattering comments from Honoria, who probably imagined that they had been made in an undertone. Then she heard Cornworthy's voice again, sounding puzzled. "Tonks – why didn't you stay in your house-elf disguise?"

"I did!" she said indignantly. Then a chill hit her once more. "Hang on, Arnie, what do you mean?"

"Well, the Patroller's just got back here, and he said you came back from the offices as yourself and relieved him, you seemed as confused as he was …" He trailed off. "Um, Tonks, did you …"

And at that point, a number of things suddenly clicked into place.

"_That was her!_" shrieked Tonks. "Curse her arse, she's using _my_ appearance!" Honoria and the bearded wizard looked shocked, but she had no time to spare for them now. "Cassius, can you put out a call to arrest … er, me?"

Cassius was already doing so. She could hear him calling into the office for extra help. "Get people down to the Atrium!" he was shouting, presumably into his mirror phone, as she couldn't hear the other end of the conversation. "You know what Auror Tonks looks like, yes? If you see her, _arrest_ her!" There was silence for a moment while some protest was made at the other end. "Yes, I _know_ she's a Metamorphmagus, dammit! She won't be able to change at the moment. Yes, I'm _sure!_ Just get anyone spare down there now!" He paused, and spoke more quietly so they could hear him only via the Earworm. "Tonks, can you give me a better description? It might be a good idea if you didn't change back to your own face just yet …"

"I wasn't going to! I'm not that daft." She fished out the mirror phone from inside her now somewhat ragged teatowel and called the Auror Office, hoping they would take a 'house-elf' seriously. "Yes, that's right," she said after the preliminaries. "She's five foot four, slimmish, heart-shaped face, and –" here Tonks gritted her teeth, it definitely wasn't her favourite part of her natural appearance "– _mousy brown hair_. Have you got that …"

The voice Tonks now recognised as Mary Edgecombe interrupted as she retreated to the lifts yet again, for what seemed like the hundredth time in the last hour. "Cassius? I heard what your people were saying. I've put a block on outgoing Floo connections from the Ministry – my assistant is going to announce it's for routine maintenance. Will that help?"

"_Bless_ you, Mary," said Cassius with evident relief. "Tonks, are you … What? Oh damn …" His voice came back after a short pause. "Look, everyone, that was Poppleford again. People are starting to arrive in the outer room for the signing ceremony. I'll have to go through with it now, regardless, because of that wretched contract. I'm taking the Earworm out for the moment, but if anything I need to know happens, get in touch via the mirror phones and _damn_ the ceremony. At least we seem to have headed her off before she could do anything. Don, you're in charge." His voice cut off abruptly.

Tonks glanced at her watch as the floors passed by; it was now eight forty-three, and Carrack might well have had time to get away. Fortunately, it _did_ at least seem that Cassius was right, and that her encounter with the Patrol wizard had stopped her putting whatever scheme she'd come up with into operation. On the other hand, it had also warned her off, and Tonks really didn't care to imagine what Scrimgeour might have to say if they let a criminal get away _again_ for lack of evidence.

_Then again_, she mused, _she doesn't _know_ that we don't have enough evidence …_

The lift opened onto the Atrium just as a voice boomed out of nowhere announcing the temporary Floo hiatus. Tonks, slipping out as fast as she could, made a point of watching the crowds of people milling about. Most merely displayed varying degrees of annoyance at the news, but it was the one who suddenly froze that caught her attention. She couldn't see her face, but she could see her clothing, and that was enough to call out.

"Rhiannon?" she said, hoping very much that she still had her Earworm in. "I think she's – I'm, whatever – the one in the plain grey robe sidling towards the visitor's entrance lift." She began to wriggle through the crowds towards her quarry. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes, I can hear you. OK, I'm watching for her."

"Can you see her anyw–"

"_Hey, you _– what are you doing?" Apparently she could. Tonks winced at Rhiannon's shout – she could hear it twice, once from the other side of the Atrium and again much louder in her ear.

As she worked her way closer – many people, startled by the shouting, had stopped to watch – she could hear the grey-robed woman say, with patent insincerity but admirable coolness, "I'm an Auror. Can't you see the badge, woman?"

Tonks was now close enough to see Rhiannon give an evil grin in response to that. "Well, now, isn't that a coincidence? So am I. And _you're_ under arrest. _Incarc–_ "

"_Protego!_" Carrack shouted desperately, bringing up her wand. Her Shield Charm didn't seem to be cast with any great expertise, but by sheer chance it did succeed in distracting Rhiannon Davies, as the ropes from her Incarceration spell bounced up off the shield and back at her. Before she had time to disentangle herself Carrack gave her a shove which sent her sprawling into the Fountain of Magical Brethren, and then broke into a flat run.

By this time, everyone else in the Atrium had stopped whatever they were doing to stare – after all, it wasn't every day that visitors to the Ministry were treated to the sight of an Auror sprinting towards the exit to escape from the building, while another Auror and a house-elf tried to stop her. Out of the corner of her eye, Tonks could see that Rhiannon was still climbing out the water, and so she let loose a stream of hexes at her target as she ran. Unfortunately, none of them hit, and as Carrack reached the lift she made a desperate jab at the button to open the door …

… which remained stubbornly closed.

Carrack whirled round with sheer terror on her face, and Tonks had the singular experience of seeing someone else disguised as herself, rather than the other way round.

"Game's up, Jacqueline," she said quietly.

"_No!_" screamed Carrack, raising her wand again, but she never got the chance to cast a curse. Two jets of red light came from behind Tonks and hit the fugitive square in the chest.

-----

As Carrack crumpled to the floor, Tonks turned sharply, to see Rhiannon and (to her great surprise) Kingsley Shacklebolt running up to them.

"Remind me to thank young Eric for blocking off the lift door," said Rhiannon, dripping wet and panting.

"Yes, please do," said Kingsley absently. For some reason he was looking down at the unconscious Carrack with an expression of utter disgust on his face. "So, she was just a cheap little criminal after all?" he said, half to himself. "I don't think I've made an error of judgement like that in a _long_ time." He looked back at a confused Rhiannon. "You know, I convinced myself that she was trustworthy, despite all her past history? I even suggested her as … well, I'd have vouched for her as having the right stuff. I thought I'd got to _know_ her."

Tonks exchanged mystified looks with Rhiannon. "I didn't know you _did_ know her," said her teammate. "I mean, it's not like _you_ need a hairstylist, is it? Where did you meet her?"

Kingsley looked incredulous. "Where did I _meet_ her? She's been with us, what, nearly half a year now? What did she do? Was she involved with the campsite rioters in some way?"

Light dawned on Tonks all of a sudden. "Er, Kingsley," she said hesitantly. "You do know that isn't m … er, the _real_ Nymphadora Tonks, don't you?"

"_What?_" He looked down at her, astonished. "What are you talking about? There was a full-scale alert out to capture her!" He seemed to realise for the first time what kind of creature he was talking to. "And while we're here, would you mind telling me since when a _Ministry house-elf_ has behaved like _you're_ doing?"

"I'll punish myself later then, shall I?" she asked sardonically. The import of what he'd said was just beginning to sink in and rile her. "Like the cheap little criminal I am?"

"I beg your pardon?" He stared at her for a moment, then his eyes widened and a look of absolute horror appeared on his face. "No … you can't be …"

Tonks glanced back into the main part of the Atrium. The rest of the Aurors had already set up barriers part-way along the hall, and were urging the crowds away towards the lifts and fireplaces with blithe assurances that there was nothing more to see here. Rhiannon was hiding her from view, and no-one could see what she was doing at such long range. So she let herself relax and grow into her natural face and figure, remembering to also Transfigure the otherwise wholly inadequate teatowel into a set of robes. She made sure that her hair was pink. Unnatural or not, it might be necessary to convince Shacklebolt that she was who she said she was.

"Looks like she is," said Rhiannon, grinning at Kingsley's expression. "You didn't just put your foot in it, Kingsley, I think you soaked it in Swelling Solution first."

"I … I … I'm, I mean, er … I'm sorry, Tonks," he stammered, obviously finding it hard to look her in the face. "I didn't mean …"

"Oh yes you did," she said flatly, turning her back on him. She began talking in clipped, professional tones, trying not to show how much his words had stung. "Rhi, I'm going upstairs to tell Cassius what happened. He must be worried at not hearing anything, but there's no point in interrupting that ceremony now. I'll see you back at the office when her Polyjuice has worn off. Please call through and tell them to call off the hunt now, I don't want to spend the next few hours in the cells." As she walked away, she half-turned her head to look back at a still highly embarrassed Shacklebolt. "I convinced _myself_ you thought I was trustworthy, Kingsley. Guess I made an error of judgement as well, eh? I thought I'd got to know you, too."

She strode off with her head held high, determined to depart the scene before either her anger or her bitterness could show on her face.

-----

Beatrice Easton was waiting outside the door of the signing room, and gave a quick, tremulous smile as Tonks arrived and stuck her head around the door to give Cassius (in his Mackenzie Ashford disguise) a quick thumbs-up. He beamed with relief as she shut the door again.

"Is .. is everything all right then, Miss Tonks?" asked Beatrice. "Did you get who you wanted?"

"Yeah, she's Stunned and under arrest," said Tonks, glancing at her watch, which told her it was a few minutes past nine. She was finding it hard to believe that so much had happened in the last hour and a half. "How come they haven't started yet?"

"Oh, I think Mr Ashford – oh sorry, it's really Mr Smethwyck, isn't it? – was trying to drag things out a bit until he knew what had happened. Just in case something went wrong."

"Right. Well, we put a stop to her plan, so nothing did." She looked at her companion and smiled. "Long time, no see, Beatrice. I haven't seen you since the _last_ time we tried a sting operation!"

"No, I suppose not," she said, this time with a more confident smile. "Well, apart from earlier this morning, I suppose."

"Yes, I supp …" Tonks trailed off. "Er, _did_ we see each other earlier this morning?"

"Well, yes," said Beatrice, looking bemused. "When you came in to see everything was all right, while Mr Smethwyck was in the annexe getting ready? You wanted to check the quills, didn't you?"

"But I …" Tonks' jaw dropped in horror as she remembered two things that hadn't struck her as important before. First, that Beatrice Easton had never been told the details of the plan, and therefore didn't know that Tonks was supposed to have been disguised as a house-elf; second, that the Patroller had said Carrack-as-Tonks had come _back_ from the offices to relieve him …

The next few seconds seemed to happen in slow motion.

She burst through the door, yelling at the top of her voice. "_CASSIUS!_ _DON'T …_"

She saw Cassius just about to pick up a quill to sign the document, and carrying through with the motion by instinct while looking up in surprise at the interruption. She reached him just him time to grab it from his hand, but her momentum carried her forward into the table and she tripped. The quill in her hand touched the sheet of parchment on the table, and she heard a _crack_ as it split open, showering her with some darkish liquid that probably _wasn't_ ink.

Cassius was at her side in two strides. "Tonks! What's going on?"

"That woman was in here earlier on, disguised as me. She brought in this quill, she must have booby-trapped it … _Don't touch it, you idiot, it's probably poison!_ " she spat at the Departmental official who had moved to clear up the mess.

Cassius' face had gone very white. "Are you all right?"

She looked at Cassius sombrely as she caught on to what she meant. "I seem to be at the moment …" She moved back towards the desk and suddenly slipped, clutching at it for support. "Oh. Maybe I'm not as all right as I thought … Cassius, I'm starting to feel a bit dizzy …"

"_Tonks!_" He grabbed at the nearest potion-free object, a book of Departmental rules. Ignoring the protests of the officials, he touched his wand to it and muttered "_Portus_," then shoved it into her hand as soon as the blue glow faded. "Beatrice!" he called to the startled-looking woman in the doorway. "Go and get the Aurors in here!"

"Will, listen," said Tonks urgently to her friend (who had looked equally startled at first but who now seemed to have caught on). "Don't let anybody touch _ANYTHING_ until the experts get here, it could be dangerous …"

"Ready, Tonks? One, two, _three_ …"

She felt a tug behind her navel as the Portkey carried them both away.


	23. Old Sins Cast Long Shadows

**22. Old Sins Cast Long Shadows**

_Thursday 29__th__ October 1994_

Tonks woke with a start, glanced around at her surroundings and groaned as she remembered where she was. She'd never really liked hospital wards, and counted herself fortunate that there had been little need for her to spend much time inside them – just visits as a child to the specialist at St Mungo's who was teaching her how to control her gift (sometimes interesting, but often tedious), and the occasional night in the Hogwarts hospital wing under the care of Madam Pomfrey, usually after a particularly painful demonstration of her clumsiness.

She'd actually felt all right after the first shock and dizziness had passed, and had even been able to dictate a report while the specialists got to work analysing the 'ink' in the pen. However, once they got back – aided by Cassius' insistence that it might be something obscure and nasty – the Healers had quickly whisked her off to the emergency poisoning ward on the third floor; and after that her night had been part enchanted sleep, part visits from harassed Healers giving her vials of unpleasant-looking and worse-tasting liquids to swallow.

Tonks rubbed her eyes, feeling both weary and horribly stupid once more. Although all the people she'd spoken to had blithely assured her that she had nothing to blame herself for, it didn't really help. It had been her appearance that had fooled everyone, and she couldn't shake off the feeling that she should have remembered that Carrack had cut _her_ hair too.

She glanced into a mirror on the wall and grimaced as she saw the state of that hair now. Natural mousy brown, just like Carrack's impersonation, and lank with it. She made a half-hearted attempt at turning it pink but somehow, at the moment, she didn't seem to have the heart to keep it that way for more than a few seconds at a time.

"Miss Tonks?"

She looked up quickly to see a man in lime-green robes standing by the door of the private room. She couldn't place him as one of the Healers who had been there the previous night, although there _was_ something vaguely familiar about his face.

"Yes, that's me," she replied. "Can I help you?"

"No, no, I just came to check on you," he said, smiling. "It's not really my ward – I specialise in creature-induced injuries – but my uncle asked me to see if you were all right. He thought a fellow Healer might get more cooperation."

"Ah, right." She blinked tiredly and suddenly realised that the man bore something of a resemblance to Cassius – in fact, she had an impression that he might have been in one of the photographs pinned to his cubicle wall. "You're Cassius' nephew, then?"

He nodded. "Yes. Hippocrates Smethwyck at your service."

Tonks grinned. _Another good old classical name then …_ "Sorry, but I'm afraid they haven't even told _me_ what the matter is yet."

He grinned back. "I think I'll invoke Healer's privilege, then." He picked up the clipboard at the end of the bed and read through the notes, his eyebrows steadily rising. "Good grief. I've never even _heard_ of 'Blood Blend'."

"_What?_" asked Tonks, in what was very nearly a yelp.

Hippocrates Smethwyck smiled reassuringly. "You'll be fine. It says here that they've cleaned out all the dangerous stuff from your system now. Uncle Cassius will be extremely pleased to know that you're all right – he's mentioned you more than once."

"He has?"

"Oh yes, he's quite fond of you," he said kindly. "He says he enjoys working with someone just starting out. Takes him back, you see. I recommended that he get back in the saddle again, and I'm glad to see that it seems to have been really good for him."

"Oh, so it was _your_ idea? Medical recommendation, eh?" Tonks bit her lip. "Lucky he wasn't on the receiving end of the potion like he was meant to be. _That_ wouldn't have been good for him at his age."

The Healer shook his head. "It wouldn't have made a lot of difference under the circumstances. And frankly, it's worth the risk. It's only been a couple of years since my aunt died, and we didn't want to see him pining away."

"I'm sorry …" said Tonks helplessly.

"Nothing to be sorry for. Anyway, that wasn't so much of a shock, we always expected to lose her early. But Uncle's still pretty good for his age."

"That's true …"

At this point, O'Gregan and Cornworthy poked their heads around the open door. "How is she?" asked the Irishman without preamble. Cornworthy nodded to Cassius' nephew in a familiar way, as if he'd met him before.

"She's fine," said Smethwyck.

They beamed. "Good. In that case, Tonks, you might like to know we've got young Mickey and Jacqueline sewn up. On their way to Azkaban as we speak, trial will be as soon as the Wizard Spots can find a place on their precious court schedule, now."

"We brought him in just as soon as we'd got her," explained Cornworthy. "Once he realised she'd been caught – well, he went completely to pieces. Confessed everything."

"Which wasn't too bright of the little eejit, because we might have had a problem linking him in otherwise," added O'Gregan happily. "Your hairdresser was sitting tight and not saying a word. But when we told her what Mickey was saying, _then_ she was quite keen to give her side of the story, so she was. I do like it when that happens."

"How is everyone taking it?" asked Tonks.

"Scrimgeour's ecstatic," said Cornworthy. "Or at least, he said 'very well done' which is the nearest equivalent in Rufus-speak. The Magical Creatures people are relieved it's all over, but would like to know what funny training the Auror Office are giving to house-elves. Ellie Finchley sends her regards – er, we'll fill you in on that later – and Mackenzie Ashford is pleased that he can come out of hiding now, but still miserable that someone he loved turned out murderous, of course."

"Cheers," said Tonks morosely. _I know the feeling. Of course._

The door opened again and a weary-looking Healer came over to them, looking surprised so see Smethwyck there. "I'm afraid you'll have to leave unless you're family," she said. "The patient needs to get a few extra hours rest."

Tonks groaned and slumped back against the pillow. She took the goblet of potion that the Healer offered her and downed it in one, closed her eyes for a moment and was asleep before she'd even realised it.

-----

She was jolted awake by a finger prodding her ribs and a teasing "Wake up, sleepyhead!" from the owner of the said digit.

Her eyes felt glued together, but a little experimentation showed them to be merely sleep-encrusted. She rubbed them open and looked up at a grinning Rhiannon. "Couldn't you have let me _sleep_ a bit?" she asked grumpily. "I was up half the night with people waving wands over me, you know!"

"We do know," she replied, still grinning. "That's why we _did_ let you sleep. It's half past four in the afternoon and you've been out about six hours. Feeling perkier now?"

Tonks sat up and winced at how stiff she felt; squashing herself down to the size of a house-elf the day before hadn't exactly helped. She glanced at her watch suspiciously, but Rhiannon wasn't joking about the amount of time she'd been out. She stretched. "Yes, actually. What have I missed?"

"Nothing much. Cassius was catching up on some sleep too, but he just woke up so we thought we'd better all come and see you. Your parents dropped by – the Healers must have informed them you were here – but we told them you were fine, it was just a routine injury, nothing to worry about. Up to you whether you tell them the details, but I didn't think you'd want them fussing over you."

"Too right," said Tonks fervently.

"I didn't think you'd want to miss the fun either. Ready?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Rhi."

"Excellent." She went to the door and called in the rest of the team, and Tonks sat up, wincing as she noticed the hospital nightshirt she'd been given. Cassius looked rather wan, but was smiling nonetheless; O'Gregan sprawled out in a chair with his feet up on the bed; Rhiannon knocked them off and sat down on the edge where they'd been; and Cornworthy leant against the wall near a portrait of an eighteenth-century Healer, a wry expression on his face as he watched his colleagues.

Tonks smiled back at Cassius. "You OK, mate?"

"Yes, now that I know you're all right. How do you feel?"

"Like a cauldron after all the unpleasant things they've poured into me – but apparently they worked. Thank you for the quick action, by the way – the Healers said I could have been _much_ worse if they hadn't known what sort of poison to look for right from the start. What _is_ Blood Blend, anyway? It sounded vaguely familiar when your nephew mentioned it."

Cassius shuddered. "Another of those charming recipes that Lucretia Borgia never knew. In fact, I even read out the description when you showed us the book, remember?"

Tonks was still shaking off sleep and had to think for a minute before the details came back to her. "The _wasting potion?_" she gasped. "The contact poison? Bloody hell, are they _sure_ they have the antidote?"

He nodded. "Don't worry, we were – er, _you_ were lucky. Do you remember the book said you could make it much more powerful with a dash of your own blood, except then it only affects close relatives? Well, Donnacha tells me that Mickey Ashford added some of his blood to the mixture – in the expectation that his _uncle_ would be on the receiving end, of course."

"But as far as I can gather, he didn't get the proportions quite right," interrupted O'Gregan, putting his feet back on the bed. "Our girl Jacqueline was _most_ irate about that."

"The Healers said that because of that, the stuff in the pen was too specific to be lethal, although it still had more than enough kick to make you ill. They've managed to neutralise it though, so you should be all right for the Hallowe'en Ball on Saturday." He grinned. "I'll see you there. I've really been looking forward to that."

"So have I," said Tonks. "Perfect timing, eh?"

"Absolutely." Cassius turned to the members of his team. "Well then. You chaps seem to know more than I do at the moment. Perhaps you'd care to tell me what you've discovered while we've been out of action? For s start, could you explain why and how Jacqueline Carrack chose to impersonate _Tonks_ of all people?"

"Oh, _that's_ a good one," said O'Gregan, chuckling. "It seems that when Nymphadora here went into that shop o'hers all dressed up as Mabel –"

"_Mavis_," corrected Tonks, irritated. "Mavis Grimble, I call her."

"– or whoever she was supposed to be, for reasons best known to herself she told them she worked in the Magical Creatures Department and actually knew old Ashford slightly."

"Well, I had to tell them _something_," said Tonks defensively. "You called me in at short notice, it was the only way I could think of on the spur of the moment to turn the conversation to the poisoning!"

"Oh, that was fair enough," said Cornworthy from over by the wall. "But once they knew about the signing ceremony taking place, it gave Carrack the idea that she could Polyjuice into this 'Mavis,' who sounded like she would be a familiar face around the Department, and get into the room that way. They expected there to be increased security, of course, but obviously they _didn't_ expect it to be a complete set-up or they wouldn't have made the attempt."

"It was still quite a _risky_ plan, though, compared to their previous attempts," said Cassius, frowning.

"Oh, definitely, Cassius. But they were getting desperate – well, Mickey Ashford was getting impatient, anyway, and I suppose Jacqueline Carrack could see her dreams of riches falling apart in her hands if she didn't do something quick. And even then, I should think the only way it could have gone completely wrong would be if she ran into 'herself.' And 'Mavis' was supposed to be off work that day or something?"

Tonks thought for a moment. "Oh right. I did model her on Beatrice Easton, didn't I? I probably said I didn't work Wednesdays."

"That would explain it," said O'Gregan jovially. "So they drop a few of your hairs into some Polyjuice base for her to take, just to make sure it will work – and are positively _flabbergasted_ when she doesn't turn into Mabel, she turns into a much younger woman instead. Which leaves her pondering the immortal words of Socrates when he said, 'I drank _what?_'"

Tonks laughed. "Nice line, Don. Can't quite remember exactly where you nicked it from, but it's always a good one …"

"Well thank _you_," he said with a scowl.

"That's quite interesting," put in Cassius hastily. "I thought I'd run across most things there were to know about the practical use of Polyjuice in my time, but I _didn't_ know that using it with hair from a Metamorphmagus gave you the _natural_ rather than the Metamorphosed form."

"Neither did _I_," admitted Tonks. "When we experimented with it in training, I was always me."

"Anyway," said O'Gregan, continuing impatiently, "_They_ don't know that either, so they aren't quite sure what to make of it. Mickey is there with her, of course, so while Carrack's double-checking her samples to see if she's made a mistake, he suddenly slaps his forehead and says 'Wait a minute – I know that face! She's that Auror who argued with Charlotte at the World Cup!'"

"And that didn't make them suspicious?" asked Cassius, with polite incredulity.

"Luckily for us, Cassius, it didn't, no," explained Cornworthy. "Remember, they'd gone to a _lot_ of trouble to set Charlotte and Portia up to take the fall for this – partly to give us suspects, and partly because if Charlotte was convicted of the murder she'd lose her share of the money under the Wizarding Inheritance Act, wouldn't she?" Tonks felt like slapping her forehead at this – after all, Kingsley had mentioned that law to her – but she didn't; her head was already tender from the effects of all the potions. "They knew we'd arrested Charlotte, they knew we'd probably made the connection between the two of them. So when Carrack jumped to the conclusion that Tonks must have been investigating _Portia_ when she came in her shop –"

"Which I actually _was_, come to think of it."

"– exactly, Tonks, they decided that their plan was obviously working. And _then_ they reasoned that an Auror would be even better cover than a Departmental employee, wouldn't she? She can go anywhere, do what she likes, and no-one will question her. They had to take the risk that you might be there in person – but like we said, they weren't expecting a trap, and they never imagined an Auror would be there just as a security guard for a private citizen."

Cassius nodded. "Very well. How did it happen that _we_ missed her, though? There were a number of people around that day who _knew_ Tonks' real face."

The other Aurors glanced at each other uncomfortably. "Well, old son, as far as we can puzzle it out it went like this," said O'Gregan. "She times it so she arrives at the Ministry Visitors' Entrance during the main rush, and she's already Polyjuiced into some random customer of hers so no-one will remember her being there with her _real_ appearance. So she pops into the phone booth, gives a false name and business, and uses that Nonlocatability Spell just in case, so she does. Then she goes up in the lift, stops on the floor below –"

"– which is Transportation, where there are always loads of members of the public going in and out organising Apparition tests and Floo connections and booking Portkeys, no-one gave her a second thought –" interposed Rhiannon.

"– indeed, my love – so then she pops into the Ladies on that floor and hides away waiting for the first lot of stuff to wear off."

"Why bother?" asked Tonks. "Why not just change into – well, me – straight away?"

"If I remember correctly, I don't think you _can_," put in Cassius. "It's one of those situations where incompatible magic is dangerous – the first dose is still in your system, so when you take a _second_ dose for a _different_ person it's fighting against the magic of the first transformation. The stress could easily kill you."

"And anyway, it gives her time to watch and see if anyone seems to be following," added O'Gregan. "She puts a Transparency Charm on the cubicle door, the variant one that made it transparent only to her –"

Cassius gave Tonks a wry look. "Well, I _did_ tell you that was useful …"

"­– ready to flush away all the incriminating potions if she sees anything to alarm her. But no-one's taking any notice. So when she turns back into herself she takes the dose with _your_ hair in it, Conjures herself a little fake Auror badge, expecting that no-one will do more than glance at it – she was right at that, she was – and steps out."

"That was when she ran into your friend Mary, Cassius," explained Cornworthy. "But she got rid of her pretty quickly and went up to the right floor in the lift. Luckily for her, though, Mary delayed her _just_ long enough for you and Tonks to miss her."

Both of them looked puzzled. "The way we worked it out, that was when Amos Diggory had sent our little elf here downstairs to get his papers signed," said Rhiannon, grinning. Tonks made a face at her, "As for Cassius, he and Will were out of sight in the anteroom getting the Ashford disguise right."

"So the lucky little lady is able to go straight into the room without realising that anything is amiss," said O'Gregan. "She runs into Beatrice Easton, of course, but we never let _Beatrice_ know the details of what we were doing, so she doesn't see anything at all odd about 'Nymphadora Tonks' being there. So when Jacqueline says she wants to make sure everything is safe and switches the quill pens, she just lets her get on with it."

Tonks groaned. "She wasn't on some kind of _lucky_ potion as well, was she?"

Rhiannon smiled at her in sympathy and shook her head. "Although apparently she _did_ have a go at making it," she added, surprising Tonks, who had merely been joking. "No, honestly, there is such a potion, remember? But it's a absolute _bugger_ to get right even for an expert, and she made a mess of it on the first couple of tries. And by then, even if she'd been third time lucky –" everybody groaned "– there wasn't nearly enough time for it to finish brewing. We don't normally see it, and a good job too. Cassius might remember a case where it was used, but I can't."

He nodded. "I can recall a few occasions offhand, but it's rare. There are surprisingly few people who have the skill to brew advanced potions – as you might realise if even Miss Carrack couldn't manage it. Usually people try to make it, then either the result is poisonous or it gives them such _bad_ luck that they practically catch themselves."

"True enough," she said. "Anyway, after putting the rigged quill in place, naturally enough the only thing on her mind was getting away as quickly as possible. That was where she had her first piece of really _bad_ luck. As it happened, the wizard who took over watching the lifts was one of the blokes we borrowed from the Patrol to help capture the Gringotts robber. So he _knew_ you, and when Carrack went by he hailed her as 'Tonks.' She'd no idea who he was, of course, so she made some sort of noncommittal reply. He thanked her for getting back pronto to relieve him, and cleared off to Arnold again."

"Of course, he didn't have an Earworm, so I didn't know he'd left his post until he reported back," the Auror in question pointed out. "We couldn't make sense of each other at first, because _he_ didn't know you were disguised either, and _I_ couldn't work out why you weren't."

"And _that_ was when we put two and two together!" said Tonks, the sequence of events finally making sense to her.

"Yes. Of course, at that point, she knew something was wrong – and that was where she made her big mistake. If she'd hightailed it down to the Atrium immediately, she _might_ have been able to get out. But she took a few minutes to think about it and decide what to do, and it sunk her."

"By then, Mary Edgecombe had arranged to shut down the Floo connections temporarily," explained Rhiannon, as Tonks looked confused. "And Carrack was already _in_ the Atrium by the time they made the announcement, so she couldn't just step out of the lift at another floor and try to hide until we had to open them again. She headed back towards them to get out the danger area until the Polyjuice wore off, but by then _you'd_ arrived, and … well, you know the rest."

Tonks nodded gloomily. "Yes, we got her, but we didn't realise in time that's she'd _reached_ the room with the quill. Stupid of me."

"Don't be silly," said Cassius, looking surprised. "I heard everything that you heard, and I _still_ didn't recognise the possibility. You're too hard on yourself sometimes, Tonks. You'll need to watch that in the future."

"I suppose so," said Tonks, not wanting to labour the point. As she cast around for a change of subject, it suddenly struck her that there was one thing they'd never been able to work out. "Did they tell you how they got the Liquor of Jacmel for the first attempt, then?"

The three Aurors who had carried out the interviews grinned at each other. "We were wondering when you were going to ask that," said Rhiannon.

"Saving the best for last, we were," added O'Gregan. "Remember we found out she had a dodgy ex? Guess who _he_ was?"

Tonks and Cassius exchanged glances. "Not _Scarf Boy?_" she said in excitement. "The 'Butler'?"

O'Gregan's jubilant look faded slightly. "Not quite, but we're getting there, so we are. Do you remember a certain villain with the nickname 'Trollbrain' our fellow Farley mentioned when we gave him a little drink of Veritaserum?"

Cassius raised his eyebrows. "The chap he overheard the locals discussing when he visited the pub in the Magical Market? The one behind the _enchanted musical instrument thefts?_" he asked, seeming perfectly happy with this piece of information. "Do you mean Carrack got the Jacmel from _him?_"

"Exactly, Cassius," said Cornworthy. "One Theodulus Horrigan by name. In fact, _he_ seems to have been the one who originally asked this 'Butler' man to bring in some of the stuff. As far as we could gather from what Carrack spat at us when we interrogated her, she only latched on to Horrigan originally because he might be a route to easy money. I reckon she realised pretty quickly that he was never going to be more than small fry, though, so she dumped him. But she _did_ hear he had a commission for that piano –"

"_Harpsichord_," corrected Cassius.

"– er yes, sorry – shortly before they split up. She didn't think much of it at the time – but as it happened, _she'd_ nipped into the pub that day too for a lunchtime drink. She overheard what those Midlands blokes were saying, realised who they must be talking about, and it gave her ideas."

"Lucky for all of them that none of _our_ boys were in earshot," said O'Gregan with a snort. "Not the brightest of criminals, this fellow, now, letting his potion buying activities reach the ears of bowsies who chatter in pubs."

Cornworthy chuckled. "Well, they do call him _Trollbrain_, Don. He had to earn the name somehow! Anyway, Cassius, she'd already met Mickey by this time and I reckon she saw the possibilities in his uncle pretty quickly. Cold-blooded little thing, isn't she? So when she realised what the stuff would do, she went back to Horrigan and offered to do a deal. She said she'd heard rumours, and offered to brew anything _else_ he wanted, if he let her have a dose of the stuff, no questions asked."

"And because the poor spalpeen was still carrying a torch for her, he _agreed_," noted O'Gregan. "He didn't know a thing about _Mickey_, of course, which was one more reason they kept it all very quiet, But anyway, it's given us a great lead. Ellie Finchley is off trying to find this Horrigan so she can ask him nicely about the pianos – yes, all right, Cassius old lad, whatever they are – and as soon as she brings him in, we'll have a go at him too and see what we can find out about your Butler fellow."

"Excellent!" said Cassius happily. "Well, that's made me feel better than a dose of Dr Spark's Invigoration Infusion. Well _done_, everybody. Good work. It doesn't sound as if we can do much more until Eleanor gets back to us – so as far as I'm concerned, you can all take the day off tomorrow. You've earned it."

Tonks sat back thoughtfully, leaning back on her pillows. An idea had occurred to her how she could make very good use of a day off.

"Thanks, old lad," said O'Gregan as he got up to leave. "See you at the Ball?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Donnacha," he replied, smiling. "I haven't attended for a few years now. It will make a _very_ nice change to get out the old dress robes again."

-----

Cassius remained behind after the others left. He turned to Tonks, who had an almost childlike grin on her face. "How are you really?" he asked quietly. "_Honestly_, now? Are you up to this ball on Saturday?"

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Well, I won't say I've never felt better, but I've certainly felt a great deal worse before. Another day's rest, and I'll be back to normal. How about _you_? You look done in."

"Oh, thank you!"

"Sorry. But it was lucky I met Beatrice in time, or it could have been _you_ in here."

He shook his head. "Tonks, can you _please_ stop beating yourself up now? That's another order, by the way. I never took you for a worrier."

She smiled wryly. "Unlike you, _I'm_ still having to get used to putting people in danger. Give me a chance." More for a change of subject than anything else, she added, "Actually, I'm looking forward to this Ministry Ball as well. Unlike you, I've _never_ been to one."

He smiled faintly. "It's a pleasant evening out. And it can help to be seen there, if you have ambitions. Incidentally, who would you have gone with if Chesney hadn't asked you?"

"Oh, I could always have batted my eyelashes at you and insisted that you escort me," she said, grinning.

His raised his eyebrows. "And what makes you think I'm not _already_ escorting someone?"

Tonks considered him for a minute. "Not _Angelica Hallendale_, by any chance?" The expression of slight chagrin on his face made her feel sure she was right, and she bit her lip. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Why not?"

"Well …" Tonks had several reasons why not, but at least one of them was something she would have preferred not to mention. She began with something safe. "She's what, about half your age?"

He broke into a surprisingly infuriating grin in response. "And you expect a man to consider that a problem, Tonks? If anything, it'll be a feather in my cap. And as it happens," he added with a more serious look, "so was my wife when we met. And _we_ had nearly sixty years of very happy marriage, so I think we should be able to manage an evening's dancing."

Tonks did the calculations quickly. "Yeah, but it's not just a gap of twenty-odd years this time," she said, nonplussed. "I mean, that's not so much, I'll grant you, but Angelica – well, she's _fifty years younger_ than you, mate. Are you sure you're not getting carried away?"

He gave her a pointed look. "Yes, Tonks. I'm _quite_ sure. And shouldn't it be the old fellow giving the youngster the Talk, not the other way around?"

"Erm, usually …" Tonks wasn't quite sure what to say to that. He nodded.

"Good. And of course Angelica's a Muggle, so it doesn't matter so much – we wizards tend to age more slowly on average. I'm as fit as a Muggle of – what, sixty-five at the very _worst_? Not that much older than her in effect."

"Well yes, that's another thing," she said, biting her lip again. "She _is_ a Muggle. Are you sure you can cope with a relationship with a Muggle?"

Cassius stared. "Cope … Well, I should _think_ so, yes. I have before, after all."

"I don't just mean some fling in your long-ago rakish past, Cassius, if you had one," she said earnestly, "I mean something that might lead to, well, you know …"

"Nearly sixty years of very happy marriage?"

Tonks' jaw dropped. "What?"

He tilted his head to consider her, as if worried for her sanity. "Emily – my wife – was a Muggle, Tonks. You don't mean to say that you never _realised?_"

Tonks hadn't. She could feel a blush spreading across her face. "Oh _bugger_," she muttered. "_That's_ what your nephew meant then. And why your wife looked older than I expected in those photos?"

"Probably. Would it be cliché to say I always saw her just the way she was when we met?"

"Yes. But really sweet of you." She closed her eyes in mortification as yet another Knut dropped. "So _that's_ why everybody thought you were odd when you got married?"

"Oh, most definitely." He was staring again, but this time past her. She didn't think he was looking at the flowers on the bedside table, nor at the portrait of the Healer. "Actually, they thought I was odd for having Muggle friends in the first place, but in this job you find yourself meeting all sorts of people that you didn't expect to meet. And until you do, perhaps you don't really _think_ about the differences, let alone what you have in _common_ with them."

_Sounds just like what my mother said …_ "How did you meet her, Cassius?" she asked softly. "Love at first sight or something?"

"Good heavens, no." His eyes were beginning to get a little misty. "My superiors were aware I had Muggle friends and knew how to fit in without raising suspicion, so they assigned me to check on a businessman who had been importing some very strange, possibly magical items. They suspected he might have been Confunded – or worse, was knowingly acting as a front man. As it happened they were wrong, he was merely speculating in odd curios – but I didn't find that out until I'd mixed in his circle for a while. And in that circle, there happened to be this absolutely delightful young woman called Emily, the daughter of one of his friends, who always had a mischievous look in her eyes and was very interested in me."

"Like Angelica?"

"Well, in some ways, perhaps. Emily sensed immediately that there was _something_ about me that wasn't quite right for what I claimed to be, you see – so she always made a point of talking to me, trying to find out more about who I was. And she was intelligent, and shrewd, and a thoroughly good person to boot. Naturally I enjoyed talking to her, and we got to be quite good friends. Or so I thought to myself. And then –" he finally turned to look her in the eye "– and _then_, Tonks, when I finished my case and went back to work on other things, I began to feel as if something was missing, something I wanted badly. And that was when it dawned on me that I'd fallen in love without recognising it for what it was. It was something I'd never done before, not really – and naturally, I'd assumed that if it ever happened it would be with a _witch_. But when I realised what I felt for Emily … well, let's say it was quite the turning-point for me."

Tonks' mouth was half-open. "Wow, Cassius," she said. "What did you _do?_"

He smiled. "I felt completely miserable for … oh, it must have been about a fortnight. Because I couldn't imagine it was likely that she would feel the same way, not for an older man. Finally, I summoned every last bit of courage I had and asked her – by note, just like young Montgomery did with you! – whether she would care to accompany me to the theatre one evening. Purely to see if there was any interest there. And then I found a little _more_ courage and asked her father if he objected to her doing so, the way we were supposed to in those days. He didn't." His face lit up at the memory. "That night, I saw the way her eyes shone, and it suddenly hit me like a Stunner – she's been hoping to see _me_ again, too! Like something out of Fifi LaFolle, wasn't it?"

"I wouldn't know," said Tonks hastily, trying to banish memories of _The Heart's Plenty_. "How … what did you … I mean, how did you _tell_ her you were a wizard, Cassius? What did she _say?_"

"I didn't dare for about six months, " he admitted. "Finally, when I'd examined my feelings and done all the other things you're supposed to do, and felt sure she cared for me, remarkable as that seemed, and I definitely knew I wanted to marry her if she'd have me, I said there was something I had to tell her. And she said yes. Before I'd even popped the question." He chuckled reminiscently. "I _very_ nearly didn't tell her, then. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done in my entire life. But I just couldn't bear to let her marry me without knowing what she would be letting herself in for. So I gave her the usual little speech we wizards and witches make in those circumstances, and demonstrated a few basic charms, nothing too frightening. And she just looked at me open-mouthed for about five minutes while she took it in. I was scared speechless. And then she said – I still have Pensieve-perfect recollection of that moment, Tonks, her words, her tone, the look on her face, even after all these years – she just said, 'The answer's still yes.' I could have kissed her. Well, actually I did, obviously."

Tonks felt as stunned and speechless after this recital as the happy couple had apparently been. "You've never told me this before," she managed to say.

"You've never asked," he pointed out. "All right, I suppose that's not fair. I've never been sure if I _wanted_ to discuss it with you. It makes me happy to remember, but it makes me sad too, of course – even after two years it's still raw. Despite the fact we always realised that I'd probably lose her early." He did, indeed, look sad now. "But then we always knew that _she_ might lose _me_ early too, given the job I was in. And we got married in 1934 – even then, we could see that wars might well be coming in both magical _and_ Muggle worlds. We just decided to work out the differences and the problems as we went along. Take your chance for happiness if you can, let tomorrow take care of itself."

Tonks looked away and pretended to examine the painting of the Healer while she absorbed this statement. He shook his head in an avuncular manner, as if to convey that he knew exactly what she was doing and wasn't fooled for a moment. "And is that the reason why you're seeing Angelica Hallendale?" she asked finally.

He sighed. "Tonks …"

She brushed this aside. "Look, what _is_ your relationship with her?" she said, abandoning any attempt to be subtle. "If you're sure you know what you're doing, fine. But I don't think you should, erm –" she could see that he was still vulnerable after telling his story, and found herself shying away from what she wanted to say "– I don't want either of you getting hurt because you're _vulnerable_, Cassius!"

He made an exasperated sound. "I thought it was something like that. Tonks, let's get this clear once and for all, yes? _Neither_ of us are young things who are going to imagine we're in love, or leap into bed together, or run away to get married. I enjoy her company. She seems to enjoy mine. That flatters me, admittedly, but I'm not pretending it's more than comfort for either of us. I find her fun to be with too, she's bright, but she's … well, the one thing she can never, _ever_ be is _Emily_. And for that matter, I suppose the one thing _I_ can never be is Hank Hallendale." An odd guilty expression crossed his face, and Tonks' heart sank. "Sometimes, all you want is _companionship_, Tonks – not some supposed big romance. At least, you do when you're a hundred and five, and perhaps you do when you're fifty-two as well." He glared at her, as if challenging her to dispute his words.

"Sorry," she said hastily, raising her hands in apology and nearly knocking a bowl of grapes off the bedside table. "I didn't mean to suggest anything …"

"That's all right," he said with dignity. "I know you meant it well, but please understand that I'm old enough to make my own mind up on these things. And so is Angelica Hallendale, even if she is a mere stripling compared to me. Can we agree on that?"

She nodded with reluctance and glanced away at the portrait of the Healer again; he had the too-casual look of a painting who had been sniggering to himself a few moments before. She scowled at him, steeled herself, and turned back to Cassius. "If, and only if, you can answer me one question convincingly."

"And that question would be?"

"Are you absolutely sure you didn't kill her husband?"

-----

Cassius stared at her in total disbelief, and Tonks watched the confusion on his face with a kind of sick dismay. She'd been absolutely sure that he would know what she meant, and the fact that he quite clearly didn't left her both dumbfounded and wishing devoutly that she'd never opened a cageful of pixies by bringing up the subject in the first place.

"What … how … what do you mean?" he spluttered.

Tonks briefly considered trying to pass the comment off as a joke, but knew that her own behaviour must have made it clear that it wasn't. "Something you said the other day about innocent bystanders got me thinking about a case you once told me about, so I looked it up," she said reluctantly. "Jugson, the man with the Muggle-born wife. Snapped one day, killed her and joined the Death Eaters?"

"Yes, that's right," he said stiffly. "I didn't know you'd remember what I said."

"Well, I remembered you saying there was a battle when he was arrested, and a couple of bystanders were hit by Killing Curses. Then it suddenly dawned on me that Angelica Hallendale's mention of the night her husband was killed sounded awfully similar … So I checked …" She broke off; Cassius looked like a man with a chill making its way down his spine, as the implication dawned on him. "Um, same battle. One of the bystanders was … well … Hank."

Cassius stared at her for a minute, then sat back with a muttered swear word that she'd never expected to hear from his lips.

"Am I right in assuming you were _there_ that night, not just part of the investigation?" she said gently. He nodded, looking utterly miserable, and she put a hand out to touch his arm. "Oh Cassius. I thought you _must_ have known. You weren't … were _you_ the one …"

"I don't _know_, Tonks!" He couldn't meet her eye.

"How come?"

"It was supposed to be a simple operation," he said, head down. "Surround the house, burst in, catch them unawares. But we tripped some kind of alarm spell and all hell broke loose. They were stuck inside the house, firing off Killing Curses anywhere and everywhere. I _know_ one of them hit some poor passer-by in the street who just happened to be out late walking his dog. And I saw one of my colleagues go down about five feet away from me. We were trying to take cover in the garden and find a weak point to blast our way in …" He trailed off.

"Oh, boy," she said eventually. "How? What … how could … what _happened_?"

He paused. "Even after Barty Crouch authorised the use of Unforgivables I never _liked_ using them," he told her, a little defensively. "But in that sort of situation you _had_ to. They had an excellent defensive position, if we'd hit one of them with a simple disabling spell like a Stunner or Body-Bind it wouldn't have helped, one of the others could have revived them straight away. There was no time to call in reinforcements, and no guarantee there would be any available if we tried. And … well, let me warn you about this if you ever have to face it. When you see a colleague killed in front of you, a certain madness can take hold of you. You want _revenge_, and that's a dangerous thing if it gives you an itchy wand hand. I tried, I _really_ tried, to control it, only fire spells at definite targets, please believe me – but I know one or two of my colleagues got curse-happy. And _that's_ dangerous too. It got another one of them killed because he wasn't taking enough care."

She looked at him, aghast. His obvious anguish wrenched at her heart. "Oh, Cassius …" she said again.

"Tonks, please believe me, I have no idea _when_ Hank Hallendale was killed," he said urgently. "They might very well have killed him as a potential witness against them before we even got in there, especially if he tried to get away. _But I don't know_. That's the worst part. I don't _know_. He _could_ have been hit by a stray curse, either one of theirs or one of _ours_."

"And you really didn't know that was the incident where Hank was killed?" she asked incredulously.

"I didn't ask," he said, shamefaced. "I knew he'd been killed in an attack, but God help me, I never asked the details, and Angelica didn't want to talk about them anyway. And I hadn't even bothered to remember the _names_ of the bystanders who'd been killed in the incident. It was late in the war. Things like that didn't seem to matter. You just wrote up a report, or signed your name on the one somebody else had written, and moved on to the _next_ disappearance, the _next_ murder, the _next_ Dark Mark. It was the most nightmarish time I've ever known, and believe me I've known quite a few. After Hallowe'en 1981, when it was suddenly all over – well, that's when I resigned from the Department. I realised that I couldn't stomach it any more." He buried his head in his hands. "Oh God, Tonks. What I have done? What am I going to _do_? How can I possibly tell Angelica _that_?"

She swallowed. "Right. No. I see what you mean."

"How can I ever look her in the eye again, now that I know this?" He looked up at Tonks in horror. "What I am going to do about the _Ministry Ball_? She was so excited at the idea of going to one, she's never had the chance before!"

Tonks swallowed. "Look, Cassius … if that's really how it happened, you probably _didn't_ kill Hank Hallendale. I suppose you could take her to that one dance and show her a good time and still be able to square that with your conscience. But … if you want to keep that relationship going, mate, you're going to _have_ to tell her about this before too long."

"Yes. Yes, I know." He took a deep breath. "Very well. One last night out and then I tell her. _Damn_."

Tonks suspected that he was glad of the excuse not to do it immediately, but she let it pass. "At least we should be able to wrap our case up before too long, with a bit of luck," she said brightly. "What do you think they'll give us to do next?"

"Mm? Oh, the case." He shook himself and stopped to think for a moment, then surprised her by saying, "I'm not sure they'll give _us_ anything. Remember, Scrimgeour only assigned you to me for this particular case. I imagine your, ah, special skill would come in handy in a number of situations, so you'll probably be assigned to someone else."

"Oh," said Tonks. She hadn't considered that, and found herself a little saddened at the thought. "I hope not. I _like_ working with you. Honest."

"The feeling's mutual. But you do seem to be making a favourable impression. It seems that even Kingsley would be interested in having you on his team now? He was certainly grilling me about your temperament and performance the other day."

"I bet he was," snarled Tonks. The reminder of Kingsley's comments gave her a sudden urge towards recklessness.

Cassius looked at her in alarm. "I thought you'd buried the hatchet with him?"

"Not where I'd _like_ to." She briefly explained their last conversation. "So I don't expect us to be working closely together any time soon."

"Oh dear." Cassius' mouth twitched, but he made no further comment. "Well anyway, that's for the future. As of now, you have tomorrow off. _You_ don't have any problems with the Ball, so when they let you out of here, relax and get yourself ready to dance wi .. um, I mean go to the party with your young man."

Tonks smiled. "Even I don't take _that_ long to get ready, Cassius. But I'll take great care with the way I look, yes."

-----

_Friday 30__th__ October 1994_

Tonks examined her reflection critically, making a series of small adjustments to her appearance. Her mirror was patiently attempting – or as patiently as was possible for a mirror – to draw her attention to the fact that she was looking thoroughly nondescript, and to hint that _surely_ she wasn't intending to go to the Ministry Ball looking like _that_?

She ignored it. Of _course_ she wasn't intending to use that look tomorrow night. She was merely trying to decide whether to use it that afternoon.. And more particularly, worrying about what she was proposing to use it _for_.

Any more attempts to conduct your own personal private investigations, and you'll be spending your next year on duty guarding the Minister's teacups.

Scrimgeour _had_ to be pleased with her now after the arrest, so it would be a very bad time to get herself into trouble. She really had no business conducting private investigations on her own account. Shacklebolt – well, who knew what that bugger was thinking now? Even _he'd_ told her so, the first time she'd spoken to him.

_Just remember, Tonks, don't, ah, try any _freelance _work on the Sirius Black case._

He'd changed his mind about _that_, at any rate! She had no idea what else he'd been expecting her to do with the information he'd given her, nor why he seemed to be blowing hot and cold – at one moment asking Cassius about the possibilities of working with her, the next jumping to the conclusion that she was some kind of Death Eater sympathiser. He seemed to be playing a game of his own devising, and he hadn't let her into the secret of the rules.

Even Aurors have been known to keep things secret from the Ministry, if they consider they have good enough reasons.

She scowled at the memory. _Well thank you for the advice, Mr Shacklebolt._ The worst of it was that while she knew he was right, she also knew that she _had_ good reasons. It was merely a case of weighing the risks of what she had in mind.

She mentally ran through her plan one last time. With the precautions she was taking, she couldn't see how anything could actually be proved against her. But both the recently concluded Carrack case and bitter personal experience showed that things didn't always go according to plan.

As she wavered, her mother's question from another recent Talk popped into her head.

_How did _you_ think about him, Nymphadora? I never knew how much of an impression he made on you, because you never really saw him that often._

Tonks gasped at the long-buried, more than half-forgotten memory that _this_ recollection suddenly triggered. She recognised it, even in that moment, as one of those rare occasions where the connection between two pieces of old knowledge suddenly clicks into place.

-----

Summer 1981 

The rings on the doorbell that day were in a certain coded pattern that to the young Tonks meant simply 'someone we trust is here'. Her mother had tensed slightly when the ringing started, then relaxed when she heard the sequence. Nevertheless, she still picked up her wand before she went to answer and tapped it on the mirror in the hallway.

To Tonks' pleasure, a picture of 'Uncle Sirius' standing alone in the porch appeared in it. He was whistling to himself and wearing his usual grin. Andromeda Tonks pointed her wand at the door, muttered a few incantations to lift the locking spells, and bundled her cousin into the house, quickly resetting the charms on the door. Then she finally turned to smile at him.

"Uncle Sirius!" The young Tonks ran to him in delight and he lifted her up and swung her around.

"Morning, Dora!" he said mischievously. "How's my favourite little lady then? Looking forward to learning how to be a _proper_ witch, are you?"

"Yes! I'll get to do _real_ spells and everything, and make loads of new friends, and ..."

"Don't _suffocate_ him, Nymphadora," said her mother in an amused voice. "And I don't know how you get away with calling her that name," she said to her cousin in exasperation. "She'd probably have a fit if anyone else did."

"Natural charm, Annie," said Uncle Sirius with a grin. "You don't mind me calling you Annie, do you?" he added with mock solicitousness.

"Yes, but that's never stopped you yet, has it?" She shook her head. "Honestly, Sirius, Ted's the only other person who dares to do that, and _he's_ my husband."

He grinned evilly. "Well, if we'd followed the family traditions _I_ might have been your husband. Ever think of that, eh?"

"Only in moments of extreme depression. Nothing personal, my darling, but I can say in all honesty that thank heavens you aren't. Anyway, you're a little bit young for me, even as far as the Blacks are concerned, aren't you? I seem to remember insisting the house-elves leave you alone so I could change your nappies once." Her mother tried to hide a smile as Uncle Sirius looked mortified and Tonks laughed in delight.

"You women know how to leave a man heartbroken, don't you?" he said plaintively. "And I thought you were my _nice_ cousin."

"Oh well, you'll know better next time, won't you?" She snorted, an unusual thing for her mother. "And your girls come and go, and I've yet to hear of anyone leaving _you_ heartbroken, Sirius Black. So don't bother trying to play sweet and innocent with me. We both know you're not the marrying kind."

"Of course not! Take all the fun out of life, wouldn't it?" The grin on his face faded so rapidly that Tonks, looking up at him, was quite startled. "After all, we don't get much of it these days, do we?"

"No. No, we don't," said her mother heavily, gesturing towards the lounge door to indicate that he should go in and sit down.

Tonks hung back, slightly upset by the sudden change in atmosphere. She knew it had to be _something_ to do with the way the war with You-Know-Who was going, and she hoped fervently that Uncle Sirius wasn't in any danger. As the adults passed into the lounge, she heard him mention quietly that a couple of friends would be meeting him later on. Her mother's alarmed reaction to the news of unexpected visitors was calmed by a soothing murmur.

The adults were deep in serious and very dull-sounding conversation when Tonks came back into the room, so she simply ignored them and went off into a corner to play by herself. She didn't dare get out her new Gobstones set – her mother always said it made too much mess on the carpet and needed far too many cleaning charms to get rid of the smell – so she found the small mirror from her vanity case, and started experimenting with various ways of changing the shape of her nose. She was getting very good at mimicry now.

Absorbed in this pursuit, it wasn't until the talking abruptly stopped that the ringing of the doorbell registered in her mind. She instinctively headed towards the window to see who it was, but her mother quickly moved to grab her before she could get there, and then nodded to her cousin. He moved with caution out into the hallway and tapped the mirror with his wand, then relaxed as he saw who was reflected in it.

"That's my friends," he said. "Look, I'd better go, they've got the baby with them, of course. We shouldn't hang around in the open for too long. Not nowadays, Annie. It's too dangerous."

Her mother looked disappointed, but nodded in resignation. "That makes sense. When will we see you again?"

Uncle Sirius looked at her with an expression that the young Tonks couldn't quite interpret. "I can't say, Annie," he said. "Things are a bit up in the air at the moment. Just ... don't expect to see me round here for a while, OK?"

As the grownups embraced, Tonks peeked at the mirror to see what Uncle Sirius' friends were like. Even at that age, it was immediately clear to her that all of them were very much on edge. One was a dark-haired man, his brown eyes constantly darting from side to side, as if searching the street for signs of a Snitch. Next to him a pretty red-haired woman was cradling a sleeping baby in her arms. A small man with mousy hair was standing behind them both. All had worried looks.

"Dora! A goodbye kiss for your old cousin then." He picked her up and hugged her tightly, then stared at her with surprising intensity in his grey eyes. "Look, young lady ... if I don't see you again for a while, make sure to be a good girl for your mum and dad, eh? Enjoy yourself when you get to school, work hard, and don't do anything I wouldn't have done. That shouldn't restrict you _too_ much." Tonks giggled happily as he gave her his usual laugh, the one that always sounded more like a bark, although she could see her mother rolling her eyes at what he'd said.

As he put her down, her mother nodded to the figures in the mirror. She had the beginnings of a tear in her eye. "You really care about them, Sirius, don't you." It wasn't a question.

"Yes I do, Annie," he said quietly. "We'd ... well, we'd all give our lives for each other, or the boy. Without the slightest hesitation. And the way things are going, we might _have_ to if we're not careful." He made a shushing gesture at her mother's look of alarm. "Don't _worry_ about us, Annie. We can look after ourselves, you know that. I'll come to see you again as soon as I can. I promise."

Her mother removed the spells on the door to let him out, and as Tonks watched in the mirror she saw his friends greet him with relief. They mounted a couple of broomsticks, the mousy-haired man sitting on the back of her cousin's broom; the other two carefully fitted the baby into a harness, then gently climbed aboard themselves. She gasped as the black-haired man threw a silvery cloak over them all and they vanished from sight.

She stared into the mirror for a good ten minutes more, but saw no further sign of them. Eventually it dawned on her that they must have flown off while invisible, and she turned away in disappointment. She _really_ hoped that Uncle Sirius would visit again soon.

-----

_Friday 30__th__ October 1994_

Of course, he never had.

Now that she thought about it, that last visit had to have been sometime in the summer of 1981. And finally, after all these years, it suddenly fell into place for her exactly _who_ those other visitors must have been. As soon as she realised that, recalling what she knew had happened to them was almost automatic. All three adults dead from her cousin's treachery; the baby somehow surviving, no-one knew how.

And she _still_ couldn't make that memory and that knowledge seem as if they fit together.

She could feel moisture in her eyes as she gazed unseeingly at her reflection in the mirror; then a tear or two trickling down her cheeks; then great, racking sobs as she slumped against her bedroom wall with her head in her hands and cried. She cried with the kind of intensity and incomprehension that comes only from the sudden, unexpected release of long-buried emotions.

It took a very long time – or at any rate what felt like a very long time – for the tears to subside. Then, with movements that were suddenly decisive, without needing or wanting to think about what she was doing any more, Tonks picked herself up, Metamorphosed away the puffiness and redness around her eyes, and Apparated out of the room.

The dingy surroundings at the Apparition point in Leeds didn't really register. Neither did the roads she walked along to reach the address she was looking for, a small terraced house down an obscure back street. She hesitated as she stood outside, then removed her actual (and potentially identifiable) Auror badge and Transfigured a button into a copy of one, making sure it looked slightly different from her own. Then she knocked firmly on the front door.

It was answered after a minute or so by a man with a surprisingly young-looking face, his features almost as nondescript as her own current Metamorphosis. He was dressed in an old shirt and jeans. He looked at her with bemusement until his eyes fell on her badge, and then a flash of something like annoyance crossed his face for a moment, gone almost as soon as she thought she'd noticed it.

"Ah, I see," he said with a polite but cautious smile, running his fingers through his greying hair. "You'd better come in then."

"Thank you." She followed him into the house and closed the door behind her.

---------------------------------------

**Note:** Hippocrates Smethwyck is actually a canon character – he's the one in charge of treating Arthur for the snake bite in OotP. Theodulus Horrigan, however, was merely the delightful name on a spam email I received. I thought I might as well get some use out of it!

O'Gregan's 'I drank what?' line is from _Real Genius_, although Tonks' rejoinder is of course a slightly snarky, albeit affectionate, reference to its use in _Draco Veritas_ (ch9) and the somewhat 'erratic' sourcing in the Trilogy. :)


	24. Wolf at the Door

**23. Wolf at the Door**

_Friday 30__th__ October 1994_

Tonks gazed about her with open curiosity as Lupin led the way into his living-room. The house was small and relatively basic, and most of the furniture seemed to have accumulated the kind of multiple scrapes and tears that even repeated applications of _Reparo_ couldn't entirely set to rights. But it seemed clean, tidy, and comfortable, and that surprised her. She hadn't had contact with any actual werewolves since her training days, but the impression she'd formed then had been that many of them lived in squalor. _Although to be fair_, she reflected, _that might have been because the ones I met were those most likely to cause trouble for the Ministry …_ Lupin's small house would have seemed like a mansion to the werewolves she'd known.

She looked up from an examination of the wallpaper to see him watching her with a mildly amused expression.

"I must apologise if this wasn't what you expected," he said politely, although she thought she could detect an underlying edge to the words. She wasn't sure how to react: was he apologising for the rather Spartan nature of the surroundings, or acknowledging that they were unusually luxurious for a werewolf? It dawned on her after a moment or two that the ambiguity was probably both intentional and ironic, and she scowled. It was vital that she keep the upper hand in the conversation.

"It'll do," she said, as brusquely as she could. "Let's get the formalities out of the way first of all. You are Remus John Lupin, listed on the Werewolf Registry with the identifying number L0027?"

"Yes." His face was expressionless.

"And you are, or have been, self-medicating with the Wolfsbane Potion or taking other appropriate precautions to ensure the safety of others on full moon nights?"

An odd fleeting look of something like shame passed over his face. "Yes," he said quietly.

"Very well. I am Julia Marshall of the Auror Office" – there wasn't a real Julia Marshall, but she'd chosen the fake name to sound as ordinary and everyday as possible – "and I want to talk to you about Sirius Black."

"Well, _there's_ a surprise," he said. "Please, sit down. Can I get you a cup of tea? I was just about to make some …"

"Er, no thanks," she said hastily, choosing a high-backed but solid-looking chair and perching herself on the edge. Pretending to accept a drink had worked well enough in the Transfigured Toad, but using the more advanced Transfiguration techniques was a lot easier when the target couldn't see what you were doing. And (she realised belatedly) wasn't looking at you in a far too knowing manner.

"Of course not," he said. "Very wise. Very much according to the book. Of course, potion brewing has never been one of my strong points, so I assure you that even if I _had_ wished you harm, most likely you'd be perfectly safe." He sat down in a scuffed but comfortable-looking armchair and gave her an inquiring look. "So, what would the Auror Office like to ask me _this_ time, then?"

Tonks bit back a desire to snap at him; she could recognise the signs of someone trying to prevent her feeling comfortable with the situation. "I want to talk about your relationship with Black, and especially about the night he escaped. You know, Mr Lupin, the night you were running loose and transformed in the _school grounds _and _without Wolfsbane_," she added in an effort to disconcert him. She was pleased to see the barb strike home as his mouth tightened for a moment.

"I wasn't entirely out of control," he said after a brief pause. "I had already taken doses of Wolfsbane on the previous evenings. I don't know how well you know the theoretical background, Miss Marshall, but if you look up Damocles Belby's original work you'll see that although the potion is more effective the nearer to the full moon it's taken, every little helps. I can't deny that I wasn't fully in my own mind that night after the moon rose – but after the first shock of the transformation had caused the wolf feelings to flood in, I _did_ manage to fight them off sufficiently well to keep myself away from people." He hesitated. "Please believe me, I would _never, ever_ have been so foolish as to forget the last dose if I hadn't received one of the three biggest shocks of my life that night."

"The _three_ biggest?" Tonks knew this was a side issue, but she couldn't resist asking from sheer curiosity. "What were the other two?"

"Well, one was the time I was bitten, of course," he said quietly, making Tonks feel like kicking herself. "And the other … the last time I had that kind of shock was thirteen years ago tomorrow." He nodded at what she supposed must have been a look of embarrassed recognition on her face. "And then the next day, before I'd had time to adjust to what had happened to James and Lily and Harry, I was told what had happened between Sirius and Peter. Or what I _thought_ had happened until recently, anyway."

"What on earth made you change your mind?" The personal question burst out of Tonks before she could stop it. She quickly put on her most official and impersonal voice and continued, "According to your story, you decided he was innocent almost as soon as you arrived in the Shrieking Shack. _Why?_"

"Well, I find you can often learn a lot about whether someone is being honest by looking deep into their eyes," he replied with a tentative smile, which Tonks did not reciprocate. He sighed. "And perhaps more to the point, I'd _never_ been able to reconcile what he was supposed to have done with how much he loved James – and the other Potters too, for that matter. It left me frustrated every time I thought about it, because it just didn't _fit_ with what I thought I knew about the man. So I tried _not_ to think about it – but perhaps I was subconsciously _prepared_ for the idea that there was something odd about the accepted story. Do you know what I mean?"

Tonks felt herself flush slightly. She knew exactly what he meant, of course, but _her_ reactions were definitely not what she wanted to discuss. "I understand issues of trust and personal experience, yes," she said crisply, to cover herself. "But surely that _can't_ have been enough against the clear evidence that he murdered twelve Muggles and Peter Pettigrew?" She now knew that that evidence was a lot less clear-cut than it appeared, of course, but Lupin didn't need to be made privy to that information just yet.

"Not at first," he said with a sigh, running a hand through his hair again. "But you forget, I was able to _see_ Peter on the Map I had. I helped write that Map, Miss Marshall. I know how it works. It's more or less a standard security map, slightly modified to show passwords and with a personality impression layer. It's not that easy to hide from one, let alone appear as someone else, and impossible without a wand. If someone shows up, they're _there_."

Tonks nodded; she couldn't disagree with this assessment after recent events.

"And Peter _was_ there. I saw him clearly, I saw Sirius drag both him and the boy Ron Weasley into the passage leading to the Shack. I still thought Sirius was a mass murderer at the time. It would have taken far too long to explain to someone else how I knew where they were. I _had_ to go myself and rescue them." He looked at her almost pleadingly. "The Map doesn't lie, Miss Marshall. Two geniuses had a hand in creating it. They didn't get things like that wrong."

"I see." Tonks settled into her chair. Outside, she could hear someone's car pulling away from the kerb, and the sounds of children playing in the alleyway at the back of the row of houses. She couldn't help but wonder how they would feel about a werewolf as a neighbour, and almost smiled; the kids, at least, would probably think it was the coolest thing _ever_. It made her next question easier. "Tell me about those geniuses, Mr Lupin. I would like to understand what they were like when you knew them before the events you mentioned."

"Why?" he asked, tilting his head in inquiry.

"I'm sorry?" That hadn't been the reaction she'd expected.

"Why do you want to know? I've covered the ground fairly thoroughly before, and no doubt you won't want to hear endless reminiscences of my schooldays."

"Actually, I would." Tonks hesitated. "Tell me about Sirius Black when you knew him as a young man. Help me get a picture of what he was like."

Lupin continued to contemplate her with narrowed eyes. His expression was well-controlled, but nonetheless he seemed pensive. "Just as a matter of interest, Miss Marshall, why would knowing what Sirius Black was like as a young man help you find him now? Why would his behaviour in the Seventies matter to the Aurors in 1994?"

Tonks paused to think. Perhaps a touch of frankness _would_ be useful. She summoned all her nerve and faced him with chin up. "Because one or two of us in the Department –" that much was literally true, at any rate "– well, let's say we're willing to _examine_ your hypothesis that he might be innocent, however unlikely that is. Just as insurance, you know."

"I see …" She could see something – possibly hope? – dawning in his eyes.

"You knew him better than anyone else we can talk to. So anything you can tell me about him might help me understand the man he _really_ was. I probably won't believe you when you claim he was innocent," she added quickly, "but … well. Convince me. If you can."

"All right." He settled back in his chair and gave her an appraising look. "I'll do you the courtesy of assuming you've read the case files, and so know the bare facts of the story. What you probably _don't_ understand is what things were like at the time."

"Very well then, tell me." She too sat back, and watched Lupin as he seemed to struggle for words.

"Sirius was … complex, you might say," he said eventually. "He could be the most generous, caring person you ever met, or the most indifferent. If he liked you, he was great fun to be around – he was larger than life, popular right from the start. He always stood out in company, he couldn't help it. James was the same. Sirius, though, if he _didn't_ like you … well, you barely existed for him, except for an occasional cutting remark or hex if you really annoyed him. The only people he was _actively_ offensive to were the ones who reminded him of his family. And I presume that as an Auror, you know all about what _they_ were like."

He paused for a moment; Tonks wanted to wince, but managed to keep her face straight. She nodded.

"If he _loved_ you, he'd do anything for you. He was one of those people who make a wonderful friend and a very bad enemy. But then, almost everyone looked up to him and thought he was the last word in cool. Although some most definitely didn't – Severus Snape being the most obvious example, as I'm sure you'll know. I imagine he would have discussed Sirius' shortcomings at great length when you interviewed him."

_He did, true, but that's not the issue here. Maybe I should go and talk to old Snape? … oh no. hang on, I don't have any leverage with him, and if I turned up _there_ in disguise he'd probably see through me straight away. Bugger._ "Never mind that," she said sharply. "Tell me more about what he was like to these people he fell out with."

Lupin snorted. "Well, that would assume he ever fell _in_ with them, Miss Marshall. Severus Snape is a long way from an unbiased witness. His own hands weren't exactly clean back then. Yes, he changed his mind subsequently – and please understand, I do give Severus a _very_ great deal of credit for that – but in those days he was part of a group that were practically trainee Death Eaters. Most of them loathed Sirius because of his views and the company he kept, and he was more than happy to return the favour. It didn't help that all his relatives were part of the group – well, almost all. One cousin stayed out, I remember. Sensible girl."

"Andromeda Black?" asked Tonks, as neutrally as she could. Lupin nodded.

"Oh yes, that was her name. Sirius used to visit her every now and then." He grinned mischievously, and Tonks suddenly found it easier to imagine just how this man might have got along well with the Uncle Sirius she remembered. "Now that I think about it, I believe she actually married a Muggle-born and really put the cat among the pixies. Sirius thought it was a tremendous joke. He truly, genuinely hated what the House of Black had come to stand for, Miss Marshall."

"Perhaps he just liked the idea that someone _else_ in the family was an outcast as well?" asked Tonks tentatively.

Lupin looked uncertain. "Possibly. But this was long before he left home."

"_Why_ did he leave?" The question burst out before she could stop it. "Why _then_, at – what, about sixteen? Not even of age yet? What changed his mind?"

She could see Lupin hesitate as he gauged what he was going to say. "There came a point where it finally got too much for him," he said eventually. "I never got the full story – it happened during the school holidays and I was away from home. The first I knew about it was a brief owl from James Potter to say that Sirius would be living at his place from now on. and that he wanted a bit of time to himself. He was never keen to discuss it once we got back to school, and we respected that. I _think_ what happened had something to do with his cousin."

Tonks gaped. "Do you mean Andr …"

"Oh no, not – erm, Andrea, was it? No, I mean the older cousin, the notorious one, Bellatrix. I take it the Auror Office knows all about _her_?"

Tonks suppressed a shudder, then realised that she didn't need to, and allowed herself to adopt the ugly look that came naturally whenever she thought of her aunt's behaviour. "Yes, we do. We don't forget things like that done to our people. What did she do that made him leave?" This was something she _hadn't_ known.

"I don't think she did anything directly," he explained, to Tonks' slight disappointment. "But she certainly spent lots of time trying to convince people that Voldemort –" Tonks jumped at his casual use of the name, and stared in astonishment "– had the right ideas about blood purity, and that the Dark Arts themselves should be accepted and taught, as a key part of our wizarding heritage." He snorted again. "She really did get away with a lot as a Black, you know. And of course, it didn't hurt that she was … well, very striking in appearance, shall we say?"

"I know."

He glanced at her. "Yes, I suppose so. Anyway, as far as we could gather – and Sirius didn't talk about it in detail to any of us, not even James – it appeared that his mother made one comparison too many between him and his cousin and his brother. You know, the straw that made the broomstick snap? All he would say was 'words were exchanged,' which I suspect was a rather mild way of putting it. Personally, I think whatever those 'words' were cut him to the quick. But he stormed out, and that was that. He'd had enough of living in a house full of pure-blood fanatics."

Tonks contemplated Lupin for a moment as she processed this information. None of it had been in the reports Kingsley had supplied, although perhaps that wasn't surprising; inquiring into the motivations for Uncle Sirius' actions had been a very low priority for the Auror Office in the chaos of the day after the fall of You-Know-Who. And it wasn't quite what she'd expected to hear …

"Are you _sure?_" she asked. "He wouldn't have been the first pure-blood who argued with his family, but deep down really wanted their acceptance. And he wouldn't have been the first to turn on those he was close to, just to make up for what he saw as his shame." She could see Lupin hesitate, and added, "There was one notorious case of a pure-blood called Jugson, who became a Death Eater despite having been very outspoken against their views previously. He brutally murdered his Muggle-born wife and disappeared." She suppressed a twinge of pain at the way she'd heard of the case. She wasn't at all sure she wanted to hear the answer to the next question, but knew she had to ask. "Can you be _sure_ that Sirius Black wasn't like that?"

Lupin seemed distressed, and ran his fingers through his hair once again. "Actually, for twelve years I thought perhaps he _was_," he confessed. "I … well, I considered _everything_ at one time or another. Maybe he'd regretted leaving home after his brother was killed, once he was the last Black left to carry on the line. Maybe his family's taunts about hanging around with riff-raff and losers had finally got to him, and he wanted to prove himself as capable as any of them. Maybe he'd been in love with Lily, and wanted some sort of twisted revenge on her for choosing James. Or for all I knew, maybe he'd been in love with _James_ and wanted revenge on _him_ for choosing Lily. Frankly, I didn't know _what_ to think. Nothing I came up with made any sense. That's why it was so frustrating, why I just tried not to think about what happened if I could help it. Get on with life, pick up the pieces, try to start again from scratch. That's all I _could_ do."

"Did you consider the Imperius Curse?" asked Tonks. To her surprise, Lupin shook his head.

"No. Remember, at the time I thought he'd been the Secret-Keeper for James and Lily. And it's not possible to get around the Fidelius Charm with Imperius, or a Truth Potion, or even Legilimency –the secret is so deeply concealed that the Keeper has to _tell_ it, you see, not have it forced out of them by magical means." Tonks smiled to herself at the way Lupin seemed to drop back into 'teaching mode' every now and again, without even realising that he was doing so. "And anyway, he could _resist_ the Imperius Curse pretty well. We found that out in N.E.W.T. Defence lessons." His face lit up with affectionate recollection. "He was jubilant – he always _loved_ thwarting the Dark Arts, not to mention the people who used them."

"Are you _sure?_" Tonks asked again, pressing. She wanted to believe him, but still … "Because … that's the sort of behaviour we were talking about, isn't it? A fascination with Dark Magic, for or against, could turn round on itself. I mean, when he found out you were –" she gave him an apologetic look "– well, a werewolf, he wasn't … I don't know, _excited_ by that?"

"No, no!" Lupin looked horrified at the very idea. "He was shocked at first, of course, they all were, although they hid it well. But when he heard the full story he was … _angry_. Not at _me_, but at … the man … the _werewolf_ who bit me." He swallowed compulsively. "I was in the circle of those he was close to, you see. He was friendly enough to most people, but there were only a few he actually _cared_ about. I was one. Peter –" a closed expression appeared on his face for a moment "– was another. That cousin, an uncle, occasionally some girl for a week or two until he got bored with her. But mostly, of course –" she could hear the ache in his voice as he said the names "– James, and Lily when they got together, and Harry when he came along."

"You said he might have turned on them because of that, though," she said, biting her lip.

"I said I speculated it _might_ be something to do with that," he said sharply. "Before I found out the true facts. It never made _sense_, Miss Marshall, that's the point I want to get across to you. We thought of ourselves as brothers – well, it seems Peter didn't –" his mouth twisted "– but even within that, Sirius and James were like twins. I can see now what none of us could have said then without sounding foolish, that he loved James more than anything else in the world. And Lily too, once he got over his first jealousy and realised she made James happy, and wasn't going to ruin their friendship. The Potters represented everything Sirius had always wanted from a family, I think. Supportive, affable, _decent_, old pure-bloods but without making a big fuss over it."

Tonks looked away swiftly at that, to make sure her face couldn't show Lupin anything he wasn't supposed to see. She couldn't help feeling sympathy for the werew … no, the _person_ she was talking to. She was a little ashamed at slipping into habits of thought picked up from training._ I should know better. In fact I _do_ know better._ Lupin was evidently doing his best to sound dispassionate, but she wasn't fooled; it was clear that he'd cared about them all nearly as much as her cousin had.

Even Peter Pettigrew, the man he was now naming as the traitor. _The nervous little man on the broom …_

"All right," she heard herself saying. "Let's suppose for the sake of argument that Sirius Black _did_ feel all that, and _stayed_ feeling like that. Your theory –" _and Albus Dumbledore's too, but I don't know if you know that and now isn't the time to tell you if you don't_ "– is that Pettigrew betrayed them instead and faked his own death. What evidence do you have for that?"

"I _saw_ him," he said simply. "I saw him as a rat, I saw him as a human. And I know my word isn't going to be accepted, but even so, that's what happened. My students saw him too, and no, they _weren't_ Confunded; but you have no reason to accept my word on that either, I suppose."

Tonks paused. She rather appreciated his lack of bluster, even if it didn't get her any further. "Let's suppose then that you're telling the truth," she told him. "Why would _Pettigrew_ want to betray his friends any more than Black would? Or are you claiming _he_ was in love with one of the Potters?"

Lupin laughed. It was a most curious laugh, starting off as pleasant recollection and then quickly curdling into bitterness. "Well, I don't know, but I wouldn't be surprised. He always hero-worshipped James. And probably half of us in the year were a little bit in love with Lily. It wasn't _just_ that she was pretty," he added hastily, "although she was, but she was a really _nice_ girl as well. Sassy, not someone you wanted to cross, but decent and compassionate with it. Just the sort of girlfriend a Potter needed, really." He smiled, but again it faded swiftly. "But from what he told us in the Shack, he did it simply because he was scared. I don't think that's _all_ there was to it, but then you never know. He was obviously better at hiding things from us than we realised."

"He didn't hide the fact he was an _Animagus_. Well, according to your story, which isn't especially convincing," pointed out Tonks. "I checked his academic record at Hogwarts. It was all right, but nothing special. Not the sort of record you'd expect for someone who would be the youngest Animagus for about _three centuries_."

"Noooo …" Lupin looked deeply uncomfortable for a moment. Another closed look settled across his features, and she could practically _hear_ the cogs whirring as he decided what to say next. "I think you have to take two things into consideration," he said eventually. "Firstly, he had a _lot_ of help with the theory from James and Sirius, who really were something special academically – and thought the idea was very cool, even if they themselves weren't the type to put in the amount of sheer hard slog needed without an overwhelming reason. And yes, before you ask we all knew it was legally dubious, we just didn't care. Although I don't suppose that matters, since the Ministry doesn't officially believe the story anyway. Secondly, Peter _did_, I think, have a reason to put in the work. He was always the one who was never anything _special_. James and Sirius were the princes of Hogwarts to most people. I had my … furry little problem that made me 'interesting', at least within our little group in the know. Peter … well, when I look back now, I can see much more clearly just what an enormous source of _pride_ becoming an Animagus was to him."

"So if they helped him like that, why would he betray them then? Just the threats?"

"I don't think they ever really took him that seriously," he said after a moment. "To James and Sirius, Peter was the designated kid brother, if you like. Someone they could rely on to tag along and offer them hero-worship. Oh, they were very quick to hex anyone who tried to have a go at him, but I imagine even that must have made him feel inadequate … I tried to egg him on to do things sometimes, but it never seemed to make much difference."

He looked away from her out of the window, and his voice became raw. "When I finally confessed everything to Albus Dumbledore, the morning after Peter got away, he just smiled sadly and replied, 'Yes, I have often said that neglect and indifference can be more damaging than actual dislike. I regret that I too have sometimes failed to remember this.' He asked for Peter's help during the war, you know. Albus said he hoped that both Peter himself, and the rest of us, would come to recognise his talents for ourselves. We never did …" His gaze returned from the street outside. "Until now. It seems he had more talent than we realised. Just less … decency."

Tonks shuddered. "You mean when he joined You-Know-Who." She didn't notice for a moment or two that she'd spoken as if she actually believed the claim was true.

"Yes. I'm sure Voldemort found many uses for his _talents_. Especially those for concealment and disguise."

"That's not bad in itself," said Tonks, stung.

"Of course not. It just depends what you use them for."

"You're really convinced of this, aren't you?" she said quietly.

"It just _fits_," he admitted. "It makes sense of everything that happened, in a way that nothing I came up with before ever did – because I lacked two crucial pieces of information. One, Peter was alive. Two, he'd been the Secret-Keeper."

"I see." Tonks paused and studied the man opposite for a moment, trying to decide if he was telling the truth; but whatever secrets he was hiding (and she felt sure there were some things he hadn't told the Auror Office), they weren't showing on his face.

He'd once been Uncle Sirius' friend. He claimed he was again now. He seemed to be a surprisingly intelligent and decent man who would probably have been a good teacher last year. She wanted to trust him, but maybe that was just because she _really_ wanted to believe what he was saying …

She took a deep breath, and decided to back her judgement, at least insofar that she could trust him not to poison her. She smiled.

"You know, Mr Lupin, I think I _will_ have that cup of tea, if the offer's still open?"

His look of surprise quickly gave way to a warm smile in response that suggested he'd accepted the request as an olive branch, the way it was intended. "Of course, Miss Marshall." He jumped up and went into the kitchen, from where he called out, "I've only got teabags, I'm afraid. Is that all right?"

"Fine by me." She followed him in; his kitchen was actually far cleaner and tidier than her own, apart from a tray on top of the stove containing some rather depressing-looking blackened lasagne. He followed her eyes and smiled again.

"Well, I _did_ tell you I wasn't much good at Potions. I'm afraid the lack of skill extends to my cooking. But at least with teabags, it's hard to go wrong."

Tonks' grin was genuine. "Join the club."

He dropped a couple of them into the teapot. jabbed his wand in the general direction of the kettle, which immediately started whistling, then opened a cupboard above the stove and took out a couple of faded mugs marked '_Celestina Warbeck World Tour 1965_'. "Bought by my parents," he said hastily, noticing her raised eyebrows. "They were big fans. Though they _did_ take me along to a concert when I was young, as a rare treat away from the house."

"I suppose she's not _too_ bad," conceded Tonks. "Couldn't write a decent lyric to save her life, though!" As he swirled the hot water in the teapot, she asked tentatively, "You say you definitely saw Pettigrew as a _man_ in the Shrieking Shack? I mean, you _recognised_ him?"

"I couldn't forget Peter that easily," he told her with a grim expression as he poured out the tea. "I recognised his _rat_ form too, even after thirteen years. And besides, I put the Homorphus Charm on him myself to make him turn back. I _saw_ him change, as did the children, as did Sirius, of course. Milk and sugar?"

"What? Oh, a bit of milk, two sugars please. Homorphus Charm? I thought that was a sort of anti-Transfiguration spell?"

He extracted a bowl of sugar from where it had been pushed behind the toaster and added a little to his mug and two spoonfuls to hers. "A bit more general than that," he said, his voice muffled as he ducked down to extract a carton of milk from the fridge. He looked up and caught her eyes. "It turns a person in beast form back into a human, whether changed or Transfigured. We used to practice it on each … well, once we learnt how to do human Transfiguration anyway. It's rather advanced, but we thought we should make sure we were all good at it in case Peter ever got stuck."

He stood up again and added a little milk to her mug as requested. "Actually, Miss Marshall, that was a very good description. It _is_ more like a reverse Transfiguration than a charm, really. It's one of those borderline spells with a specific incantation you don't need if you're skilled at Transfiguration, like _Avis_ and similar Conjuring spells of that type ..."

"Ten points to Hufflepuff," murmured Tonks. At this look of surprise, she added, "Thank you Mr Teacher."

"Ah." Lupin looked embarrassed. "Sorry. Yes. I do slip into that occasionally, don't I?"

"Once or twice." She hesitated. "Do you miss Hogwarts? You sound like you would have been good at teaching."

He sighed. "I like to think so. I enjoyed it a great deal, yes, but to be honest I never expected to hold the job longer than a year. Quite apart from the likelihood that someone would look at the times I was ill and put two and two together, Albus Dumbledore warned me that the legendary jinx on the position was probably quite real."

"What?" asked Tonks, startled.

"He seemed to think it had been cursed by Lord Voldemort." Ignoring Tonks' wince, he continued, "But I was willing to take it on anyway, as a favour to him from an old colleague."

"_Really?_" asked Tonks pointedly as she sipped her tea.

"Well, all right, no, not entirely," he admitted. "It _was_ something I'd always wanted to do, so I was prepared to take my chances with the curse. I've really been very lucky. Compared to my two immediate predecessors, I got off lightly."

"I suppose." Tonks cast her mind back; she had a vague recollection of a short piece in the _Prophet_ saying that renowned author Gilderoy Lockhart had been taken to St Mungo's as a result of suffering spell damage in the course of his job as a professor. And hadn't Rhiannon said something about her cousin reporting rumours that the teacher killed the year before had been possessed by You-Know-Who? She shuddered. "Yes, I suppose you did. Everyone knows what you are now, though. That must be bad for you."

He didn't answer for a moment as he made a small show of putting the milk away. "Yes, it's bad," he said quietly, "but it could have been a great deal worse. I lost track of time that night and let moonrise catch me unawares. Even under partial Wolfsbane, I could have bitten someone, something I swore to myself I would _never_ risk again. Severus, Sirius, one of the _children_. Even _Peter _wouldn't have deserved that." He turned to look at her. "I hadn't realised the true danger of Wolfsbane to a werewolf – it gets you into the habit of thinking you're completely safe, when, if you miss a dose, you're _not_. This incident emphasised just how dangerous I am, something I _should_ have learnt when I was young. I daren't take the risk again."

"Don't be _too_ hard on yourself," said Tonks, feeling oddly sorry for him. "Anyone can make a mistake that puts someone in danger. _I_ have before now." She dropped her eyes to her mug, trying to conceal her discomfort at the memory. "It happens sometimes even with the best of intentions. And as you say, you'd just had a huge shock after seeing Pettigrew on the map, and I don't suppose anything like _that_ would happen too often."

"It's not good enough, though," he said, shaking his head. "And forgive me, but I don't think many people from the Ministry would take that attitude. I hear Madam Umbridge is using this incident to force through her new werewolf legislation, and even though she's a complete bi … that is –" he coughed and looked embarrassed "– an unpleasant and prejudiced woman, a lot of people will agree with her. And she _does_ have a point. I try to have as normal a life as possible, but I must face it, I'm _not_ normal. I shouldn't be around normal people close to a full moon."

"Well at least you try to behave normally when you're _not_ a wolf!" said Tonks uncomfortably. "Most of the werewolves I've seen just seem to let themselves go …"

Lupin interrupted her, looking angry. "Do you _really_ believe that, Miss Marshall? Is that what they teach you in the Auror Office? Most werewolves don't get the _chance_ to behave normally, even when they're human. Hardly anyone would give a werewolf a job regardless of whatever new laws Umbridge passes. Many people are scared even to talk to us, just in case breathing the same air could cause them to catch lycanthropy."

"But you …"

"… have been _very lucky_ in what I have compared to most werewolves!" He paused, and the anger slowly faded from his face. "_Very_ lucky. I was given the chance of an education. My parents did everything they could for me, and left me a little money, and I've managed to save a bit from my year at Hogwarts. It's not enough for me to live in luxury, but it lets me own a house and cover expenses. This little place may not look like much, and the location isn't ideal for various reasons, but at least it's cheap and it has a very strong cellar that I was able to soundproof and reinforce to transform in. But even that little means I'm much better off than most." He sighed. "Regular paid employment would be wonderful but it's a luxury. I really must count my blessings."

"Don't give _up_, Lupin," said Tonks, feeling oddly annoyed with him. "You've remained a man rather than a beast, haven't you? That has to count for _something_. Just because you made a blunder once doesn't mean you're going to do it again. You were trying to _save_ those kids when you saw Pettigrew, after all, it was simply bad luck that things went wrong. Just take it like a man and move on! Sorry," she added after a brief pause. "I shouldn't have said that. That was a low blow."

"It was, but thank you," he said gently. "Better than taking it like a beast, certainly. And thank you too for accepting my account of that evening's activities. It's good to know that at least one member of the Auror Office takes me seriously."

"Oh!" Tonks mentally kicked herself; she hadn't realised that her last few comments had more or less assumed that he was telling the truth. Which was still a dangerous assumption, however honest Lupin seemed to be. "All right. I'm sure there's more to know about those activities –" she stared at him closely to see how he took this, but his expression remained studiedly neutral "– but I'm beginning to think you could be right. You're not quite what I expected from the publicity."

"Few of us _are_. Especially not Sirius Black, if you'll forgive me for saying so."

"For now. But honestly – you _act_ like you're on our side."

He flushed. "If by that you mean I don't have old recruiting posters for the Death Eaters decorating my walls, then yes, you're right. I may not be entirely on the Ministry's side because the Ministry is most definitely not on _my_ side, but that doesn't mean I think that the way to protest is to dive into the Dark Arts. Lycanthropy doesn't destroy moral judgement in and of itself, Miss Marshall!"

Tonks was taken aback. "No, all right. I suppose I deserved that." At his vigorous nod she added, starting to feel embarrassed, "But I was trying to be complimentary, honest! You're … _civilised_. You must have taught well. Like you explained that Homorphus Charm thing so clearly. Just as a matter of interest, why don't you get someone to use it on you when you transform? Doesn't it work on werewolves?"

Lupin smiled grimly. "Oh, it can work, all right. The problem is, the magic underlying the werewolf transformation is very powerful Dark Magic. It takes an _exceedingly_ strong Homorphus Charm to reverse it, and very few wizards have ever had the power needed. Gilderoy Lockhart was not one of them, by the way, despite anything it says in _Wafflings About Werewolves_ or whatever it was called. And even when successful, the stress from the incompatible magic involved invariably kills the werewolf. On the whole, I prefer Wolfsbane."

"You seem to know a lot about this sort of thing …"

He shrugged. "I'm a Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher, of a sort, with special knowledge of fantastic beasts. For some reason I feel an affinity for them …"

He trailed off as they heard a curious thumping sound at the back door of the kitchen, and his face became oddly blank.

"What's that noise?" whispered Tonks as the sounds continued. "Is it one of your Muggle neighbours?"

He hesitated. "I don't think so … There's a big stray dog about in the area. Sometimes I let him in, although not usually when I have visitors." His voice, by contrast, had risen quite loudly. "We canines must stick together and all that …"

"Oh, I don't mind dogs!" said Tonks brightly. She walked to the kitchen door and pulled it open, then took a step back in surprise; _big_ was something of an understatement. The black dog waiting there was _huge_, not to mention growling in a most distrustful way.

"Easy boy, easy," said Lupin hastily. He slipped past Tonks and patted the dog's head affectionately. "This is Miss Marshall from the Auror Office. You don't want to _alarm_ her now, do you?"

The dog looked up at Lupin and walked past them into the kitchen, where he continued to gaze at Tonks with deep suspicion.

"What's his name?" she asked. Lupin glanced at the dog for a moment, then grinned.

"You're called Snuffles, aren't you boy?" he said. The dog looked at him, and (although she was sure it was only her imagination) seemed almost to be glaring. "Come along now, don't be horrible to the nice Miss Marshall. She was _just leaving_."

"Ah. Right," said Tonks, edging past. She tentatively extended a hand for the dog to examine. With great reluctance, it put its nose close to sniff her palm and then (to her complete astonishment) suddenly dropped back on its haunches and gave a happy-sounding bark. Its tail thumped on the floor at high speed. "Well now. I think he likes me after all!"

"So he does …" Lupin sounded as surprised as Tonks felt. He stared into the dog's eyes for a moment, and then his own eyes widened. "Well, Miss … Marshall … perhaps you had better go while the going's good, eh? Please, do drop by again if you need further convincing?"

"Yes. Yes, I will. Er, I'll go out the back way, it's all right." As she opened the door, she couldn't resist a final friendly gesture in case she ever _did_ meet Lupin again. She turned and asked, "Oh, about what we were saying earlier – did you hear the one about the troll, the hag, and the leprechaun who all go into a bar …?"

Lupin grinned, a completely unforced grin this time. Even the dog seemed appreciative. "Yes, actually. And I think it was _far too kind_."

Tonks chuckled and closed the door behind her, then hastily ducked to avoid the football being kicked in her general direction by one of the boys playing in the little back alley it led onto. She walked away slowly, not really paying attention to their game or their curious looks, or even to the peculiar cloud formation high overhead that looked for all the world like a giant flying carriage. The interview had certainly given her a _lot_ to think about.

-----

_Saturday 31__st__ October 1994_

Tonks couldn't resist dropping into the office the following morning to check if Ellie Finchley had had any success tracking down Horrigan, the thief of old piano-thingies (or whatever they were called). The place was even emptier than usual at a weekend. She rather suspected that half the people who would usually be present were checking security for the Halloween Ball that evening. The other half were probably trying to organise last-minute dress robes.

As luck would have it, Kingsley Shacklebolt was one of the few Aurors present. He glanced up from his cubicle desk as she walked in and Tonks nodded to him coldly. He showed signs of wanting to talk, but she really wasn't in the mood.

She flopped down in the seat by her cubicle and checked through the in-tray, discarding the usual pile of daily reports and plaintive requests that staff not flood the Ministry with memos, as the swarms of paper aeroplanes were knocking people's hats off in the lifts. However, Cassius had thoughtfully left her a note on top of the tray:

_Dear Tonks,_

_I'm sure you will want to know what happened while you were off-duty, so here is a summary._

_First things first – the initial round of interviews with Jacqueline Carrack and Mickey Ashford have been completed, and we have more than enough evidence to convict them even if they refuse to say another word. They are on their way to Azkaban as I write this._

_Eleanor informs me that she has not yet found her man Horrigan, but she __has__ brought in a couple of his friends for questioning, and expects to track him down before too long given their assistance with her enquiries._

_Donnacha has talked to Mackenzie Ashford and made some effort to cheer him up, but (I suspect) without great effect._

_Given your recent health scare, I do hope you are reading this no earlier than Saturday morning, because I told you that Friday was your __day off__, young lady, and I expect you to follow orders! You shouldn't have been doing any investigative work._

_Best wishes, anyway, and you will doubtless see me – and Angelica – at the Hallowe'en Ball. Before you ask, no, I haven't told her yet, and no, I'm not at all sure taking her is a good idea now. But this is an interview I'd rather face later than sooner, so I'll try to work the conversation round to the subject, and pretend I've only just realised. (Which I have, in effect.)_

_On a lighter note, if you have a space on your card at the Ball, I might even risk life and limb for it!_

_Yours truly,_

_Cassius_

Tonks grinned. _No investigative work yesterday? Oops. Bit late to tell me that now, mate._ She folded up the note and tucked it into her pocket, then started as a shadow fell across the desk. She looked up to see Shacklebolt standing there.

"Hello, Kingsley," she said coolly. "Come to check I'm not nicking memo pads or something?"

He gave her a wry smile. "No. I'm sure half the Department would be in trouble if we started worrying about things like that." He hesitated, and spoke his next few words even more slowly and carefully than usual. "Tonks, can we let bygones be bygones? Perhaps you could let me buy you a drink to bury the hatchet?" He winked at her in a significant sort of way.

"What – oh!" She bit back her first annoyed retort as it dawned on her that he was mirroring the turns of phrase she'd once used on _him_ when discretion was necessary. "Yes, all right then. Er – Leaky Cauldron in fifteen minutes?"

"Excellent. I'll meet you outside in the Alley." He smiled once and walked out without a backward glance, leaving her to wonder what he had in mind.

-----

He was waiting by the wall leading to the pub when she arrived, with a rather grim expression on his face. He grabbed her arm to head her off before she could tap on the wall with her wand.

"You know, I think the atmosphere in there is a little stuffy?" he said with a smile that was bright and quite blatantly insincere. "Shall we talk in the same place we talked last time? I didn't like to mention it back in the Ministry."

She stared at him, but let the questions she wanted to ask die before they reached her lips. "Er – all right. See you there."

She quickly Apparated to her flat; and sure enough, a minute later Kingsley was knocking on her door. "What's this about, Shacklebolt?" she asked, escorting him into the lounge.

He dropped into a chair, leant back and looked at her thoughtfully. "Did you know that the archivists in the Hall of Records occasionally tip us off if they happen to notice suspicious people checking up on something?"

Tonks blinked. "No. But it sounds useful."

"Oh it is. Apparently, yesterday afternoon they had an inquiry from one Remus John Lupin as to whether anyone called 'Julia Marshall' was employed by the Ministry. They knew his name, of course, it's been in the _Prophet_ recently, so they knew who he was and _what_ he was. When pressed, he was unable or unwilling to specify what department this Marshall might work for. When no-one of that name showed up on the Ministry records, he thanked the archivist and went to check through the Hogwarts enrolment records for a period between twenty and forty years ago. I'm told that, judging from the look on his face when he left, he hadn't found anything and wasn't too surprised about that."

"I see. Interesting."

"Yes, isn't it? Do you know what I think?"

"What's that?"

He glared at her. "I think someone was doing a little private investigating. And not being especially _subtle_ about it. Someone who was off work yesterday, perhaps. Who do you think that might have been, Tonks?"

"I don't … hmm." Tonks bit her lip and tried to meet his eye. "What would your reaction be if you found out who it was?"

"I'd tell them to be a _bit more bloody careful_," he snapped. "Tonks, if you were up in Leeds asking questions yesterday and gave a false name, that was stupid. Really, _really_ stupid. At least you have some sort of right to be asking in your own name by virtue of your job, but a fake identity just draws attention to yourself." He looked at her in exasperation. "I've done you the courtesy of bringing you here to ask rather than shouting it out in the middle of the Department. Now tell me, and tell me straight – was that you?"

She hesitated, then nodded. He rolled his eyes.

"I thought so. You've been exceptionally lucky, do you know that? He hasn't asked any direct questions about who was talking to him, or let it slip to anyone else on my team, but you _really_ stuck your head in the path of a curse there. However, as it happens I can cover for you and make sure no-one _else_ goes to interview him without my say-so. Call it my apology for doubting you a couple of days ago back in the foyer."

"Fair point. Sorry," said Tonks, abashed.

He shook his head. "'Sorry' might not be enough next time," he said. "Don't get me wrong, Tonks, you've done well at this job – for a new recruit. That's why I overreacted the other day when I thought you'd sold us out – which I'm sure is a feeling you know well." He smiled briefly as she flushed. "Yes, I know. Perhaps _you_ won't leap to judge _me_ too harshly for a mistake next time either. But the point is, Tonks, you're still wet behind the ears in a lot of ways."

"I tried to have a fallback position," she said quietly. "Give him the impression that I was some sort of reporter nosing round, pretending to be an Auror. I made sure to imply things and not actually tell him anything that I could only have found out from the case files."

"Well, that's something, anyway," he said. "I'd be quite happy to hint that it was Rita Skeeter nosing around … wait a minute. Did you say _pretending to be an Auror?_"

"Yes …"

He closed his eyes and groaned. "_That_ was the stupidest possible thing you could have done. People pretending to be Aurors are asking for trouble, even if – or _especially_ if – they're only _pretending_ to be people pretending to be Aurors. Normally, we'd _have_ to investigate who they were. Even reporters usually know that much."

"Sorry!" she said again, shamefaced and beginning to panic. "Kingsley, I … oh bugger it. I wasn't thinking straight yesterday. Sorry! Is this … I didn't mess things up for you completely, did I?"

He contemplated her for so long she began to squirm. "Very well, Tonks," he said softly after a while. "As it happens, this is something we can finesse quite easily. It seems you didn't leave anything _positively_ incriminating behind, so even if the worst comes to the worst and Scrimgeour suspects what actually happened, you should be able to brazen it out. The Department don't like Aurors who seem to be doing their own private investigations, though. Funny questions are asked. You might want to remember that for future reference."

"I will," said Tonks. She breathed a sigh of relief. "Kingsley? Thanks, mate. Sorry I snapped at you before. But – what did you _expect_ me to do when you told me all that stuff?"

"I expected you to do your own private investigations, of course. But _carefully_." He sighed. "Learn from this, Tonks. Learn quickly, please. It's the sort of situation in which one mistake you get _caught_ in could set your career back ten years. But, well –" he shrugged "– as it happens, you seem to be fine and Lupin isn't causing trouble. So the only remaining important question is – did you find out anything useful?"

"I'm not sure," she said honestly. "He told me a lot of stuff about my cousin and Pettigrew when they were young that I didn't know from the reports. I'll write it down for you. But mostly … I just wanted to see if he sounded _convincing_. Whether I felt he was just spinning a yarn, or whether he actually believed what he was saying."

"Fair enough. And your conclusion was …"

Tonks swallowed. She didn't really want to say it out loud, but … "I think he was telling the truth," she said in a very small voice, and was amazed how relieved she felt at finally putting the thought into words. She suspected that she'd felt that way for some time without acknowledging it to herself. "Lupin seemed … _convinced_. I'd bet my Gringotts account that _he_ believes it happened, and if he _is_ Confunded, he's not showing any secondary symptoms and it's the best bloody charmwork I've ever seen. And Dumbledore believes it too … I'm not sure how, but sod it, Kingsley, _I'm_ beginning to believe it, crazy or not."

His lips quirked. "I'm glad to hear you say that. _I've_ believed it for some time now. New circumstantial evidence does that to you. It's just been rather hard to persuade Scrimgeour or my team to take it seriously. And it's very useful to have your impressions of Lupin, because I haven't had the chance to see him personally."

"_What_ new circumstantial evidence?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Ah, that." He shrugged. "Did you know I wrote back to Dumbledore, inviting him to pass on any suspicions he might have? No, of course you didn't. Anyway, he wrote again, directing my attention to that missing Ministry witch who vanished in what is supposed to be the last known location of You-Know-Who, and to some Muggle gardener who had disappeared in the village where You-Know-Who's _parents_ lived, of all things. Nothing conclusive, but certainly suggestive of something going on."

Tonks nodded with a sudden surge of interest. That was definitely new.

"Which leaves me with a nice little quandary; I have to investigate the crimes of a man I actually suspect may be innocent, and ignore even the possible existence of another man I think may be out there committing more crimes. At least, I do if I want to keep my job. Interesting dilemma for a senior Auror, isn't it?"

Tonks swore fluently. "What are you going to _do_, then?"

"Try to nudge the team into investigating Pettigrew, if only to 'disprove Black's story'. Work on Scrimgeour. See Lupin for myself. Consult with Dumbledore and see if he can't bring a little influence to bear on Fudge with the evidence he has. Wish fervently that old Mad-Eye were still available to be persuaded into trying a private investigation instead of – I imagine – scaring the life out of the kids at Hogwarts. And quietly set _you_ a few tasks from time to time when you're not tied up with your own cases, _if_ you're willing to take instructions instead of flying solo. Are you?"

She looked at him for a few moments, knowing that what she was being asked to make was a serious commitment. "Yes," she said eventually. "Yes, I will. Whenever I can."

He grinned. "Good. Damn, I'm glad to hear you say that too."

"Is there anything specific you want me to do?"

"Not yet. Use your family connections to dig into Black's background a bit more if you get the chance. Keep an eye out for developments. But most of all, _keep it quiet_ and be ready to help out when I ask."

"That's not doing muc … oh, okay. Don't do anything stupid, right?"

"Right." He got up and breathed an enormous sigh of relief. "That's a load off my mind, Tonks. Good luck for tonight."

"Tonight … aagh!" For a moment, the Ball had completely slipped her mind. She checked her watch. "Bugger it Kingsley, you'd better _not_ want anything doing today! I've got to be ready for seven and it's already quarter past one!"


	25. Let's Face The Music And Dance

**24. Let's Face The Music And Dance**

_Saturday 31__st__ October 1994_

Tonks tilted her head sideways and looked critically at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was currently dark brown, shoulder-length, with blonde highlights and a slight curl at the ends that she hadn't been able to resist adding. The style wasn't a lot like those she normally favoured, but had been carefully selected for the Ball from a number of experiments. On reflection, she'd reluctantly abandoned the idea of giving herself the Carrack Special hairstyle that Portia Blackstock had once worn. Under the circumstances, it might be considered rather inappropriate.

"Hmmm ... what do you reckon?" she asked.

"It'll be fine, dear," replied the mirror patiently, for the seventh time that evening. "I thought you said your young man doesn't really bother about how you look?"

Tonks snorted. "He'd _better_. He just didn't want me to change into Zara Gabon. Try asking for that, and he might just go the same way as the men in _her_ life." She gazed at her appearance with slight discontent, and let the hair lengthen a few inches. "There. That's more like it, I think."

The mirror was unable to roll its eyes, of course, not having any, but somehow managed to give the impression of doing so. She ignored it and examined her reflection critically, turning from side to side in her robes to gauge the effect. They were her favourite dress robes – deep scarlet, low cut and sleeveless.

_Well, more or less my _only_ decent dress robes, actually …_

It had been so long since the last time she'd attended a formal event she'd forgotten that they hung just a little loosely on her in her natural shape; but for a Metamorphmagus, that wasn't really a problem. With a grin, she let her cleavage expand enough to fill them out. She didn't usually bother, but, well … none of her boyfriends had actually objected yet.

A ring at the bell indicated that the current holder of that title had arrived, and she abandoned the mirror, stepped out into the lounge and waved her wand at the door to let him in. He stopped in his tracks as soon as he saw her and whistled.

"Wow. You did all this for little old me?"

"No, I did it for little old me," she said tartly, then relented. "Well, OK, a bit for you. I don't mind trying to keep you enthusiastic."

"It's working." He looked her figure over as she smiled at him, obviously struggling to find the right form of words for what he wanted to ask. "Er, have you, erm …"

"Yes. Any objections?"

"None at all. You know," he said thoughtfully, "I don't think I really like you wearing robes that look like that at a public event like this …"

Tonks' smile faded into annoyance. "Why not?"

He chuckled. "Because it makes me want to tear them off you, dammit, and I've got a _whole evening_ of not being able to do that to get through."

"Oh!" _That's OK then …_ She grinned wickedly. "Excellent! Obviously I judged it right."

She could see him shuffling his feet out of the corner of her eye as she collected her bag and checked that the security spells on her flat were in place. "Look, erm, about the actual dancing," he said after a minute or two. "I know you don't want to do too much in case .. well, you know, because of what happened with your boss and his partner the last time we tried it … but we can at least have a go at some slow dances, yeah?"

Tonks turned and waggled her eyebrows at him. "Actually, we can do the fast ones too."

"Yeah?" The expression on his face was part hopefulness, part deep unease. "Right – are you, um, sure?"

"Yeah. Look at my shoes."

Chesney looked as instructed; evidently slightly distracted by the amount of leg shown by the robes, but managing not to make it too obvious. Recognition slowly dawned. "Wait a minute … aren't those …"

"Dancing shoes?" said Tonks, grinning again. "Yeah."

"How did you get _them?_"

"I went round to the Ballroom of Enchantment and had a little word with the manageress, and she let me have a pair for the evening. _All_ evening, this time, no turning back into clogs at midnight or anything."

"Just like that?"

"For a small consideration in Galleons. And a tacit promise of a little official help should they ever have any trouble, of course."

Chesney brightened considerably at this news. "Cool! Shall we go?"

-----

As neither of them were willing to trust their dress robes to the tender mercies of the Floo system, they Apparated into the Atrium of the Ministry, only to discover that it had been elaborately decorated in the few hours since Tonks had passed through on her way to meet Kingsley. All the lights had been dimmed, except for some sort of glow emanating from the Fountain of Magical Brethren, and hundreds of carved pumpkins had been charmed to hover in mid-air with Long-Burning Candles fixed inside them. Soft flickering lights were criss-crossing the ceiling above, which instead of its usual peacock blue now showed a starry sky. Tonks looked up to see a few dozen leprechauns with little lanterns zooming about, and exchanged wry glances with her boyfriend.

The usual watchwizard on the desk had been replaced by one of the _real_ Ministry house-elves, at which sight Tonks had a sudden fit of the giggles (muttering "I'll tell you about it sometime" when Chesney looked at her in bemusement). The elf bowed and scraped earnestly and handed them programme cards.

"'_Honouring the Irish World Cup winners'_, are they?" said Chesney with a laugh as he read the card. "Our dear Minister's not jumping on the bandwagon at _all_, then?"

"To be fair, Bagman's department insisted," said Tonks. "Rhiannon told me. All the Irish team are here as special guests, and the trophy's going to be on display."

"Cool!"

"Yeah, I know! We haven't had a winner from one of the home nations for _ages_."

Chesney winced. "Don't I know it. Thirty years of hurt. Wish it had been England though …"

The lifts took them all the way to the Ministerial offices on the top floor, which Tonks had rarely visited, and they stepped out into a sizeable lobby. She looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings and frowned. "Which way do we go, then?"

"Er … through there, I suppose," said Chesney, indicating the far corner, where a formation of leprechauns in the shape of an arrow was pointing towards a set of double doors. The Ministry ballroom on the other side of the doors was decorated in much the same way as the Atrium had been, although this time the focus of the lighting was on a shamrock-draped plinth at one end of the room, on which the huge gold World Cup trophy was proudly displayed. More leprechauns were hovering overhead.

"Hope they're better behaved than the ones we met," murmured Chesney.

Tonks chuckled. "I suppose they must be. No-one in Will's department would have agreed to it if they weren't, they'd get sacked."

"That's probably what they said before the World Cup."

"True. But at least there aren't any Bulgarian bird-women here tonight to set them off …"

A photographer was stationed in front of the plinth, taking shots of guests standing next to the Cup. Tonks caught Chesney's eye and grinned. _That's something we're going to have to get done before the end of the evening._

The band were just finishing their tuning up, and Chesney offered her his arm. "Shall we dance?"

"Why not?"

Tonks couldn't suppress a slight pang of anxiety about how well the dancing shoes would work; but reflected, as she glanced out onto the virtually empty dancefloor, that she was never going to get a better opportunity to test them out. Fortunately, her worries proved groundless; the shoes worked perfectly; and the floor filled up rapidly as more guests arrived at the Ball.

As the shoes helped her execute a perfect twirl she saw the big Irish Keeper Barry Ryan dancing awkwardly with his wife Eloise; he was obviously a lot less mobile away from a broom. Both Ryans actually looked quite impressed by her prowess, and she tossed her head back in approved ballroom style and grinned as Chesney swept her away from them. It was really rather a nice feeling not to be the clumsiest person in the room for a change.

The Blackstocks were there, of course; Tonks soon spotted Portia sitting at a table with her parents, who looked as distinguished here as they had at the World Cup. Their party was completed (to Tonks' amusement) by a rather vapid looking young man who was talking to Portia in an earnest manner. Presumably he was parentally approved due to his wealth, valuable family connections, or both; but he was definitely barking up the wrong tree. Tonks caught Portia's eye as they passed, and could have sworn that she saw her wink.

Chesney caught the interplay and gave Tonks a puzzled look, so after swearing him to secrecy she took him aside and whispered a brief explanation in his ear.

"Ah, right." He seemed mildly interested, but not at all surprised, as if the news merely confirmed a long-held suspicion. "How's Charlie then? Will she be OK now?"

"Well, I can tell you we've arrested her cousin and his girlfriend, because it'll probably be in the _Prophet_ in a day or two anyway. I don't suppose she's too happy that her cousin did it, and –" she hesitated, but had to say it "– I wouldn't bet on their secret _staying_ secret when Mickey and Jacqueline come to trial. One of them is bound to say something, and you know what the _Prophet_ is like. That Skeeter woman's always ready to print juicy details."

"Ah. Poor Charlie. Look, Tonks," he added awkwardly, "I probably should have mentioned about that … well, you know. I was pretty sure Charlie _was_ … erm … that way … I just didn't know she had anything to do with Portia Blackstock."

"That's OK, Ches. I'm not blaming you for sticking up for a friend."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. I'd hate for you to need to arrest me!"

"Bind your wrists and haul you away, eh?"

"Well, on the other hand, I suppose it might not be too bad … Ow!" They exchanged grins as Tonks jabbed him in the ribs.

The ballroom had become positively crowded by now, and every few minutes Tonks would spot yet another person or couple that she knew. Percy Weasley was there, dancing cheek to cheek with a girl with long brown curly hair; he looked far more open and relaxed than she'd have believed possible, given how uptight he'd been every time she'd seen him at work. She also spotted Donnacha and Rhiannon in a slow clinch in one corner, and smirked at them over her shoulder. She hadn't even realised they were going to the dance. Both of them put their tongues out at her as soon as they noticed.

The smirk disappeared at the sight of two fair-haired people dancing a sedate waltz. To her further annoyance, when she and Chesney stepped off the dancefloor for a breather a short while later, the couple were nearby – talking to the Minister and his Permanent Undersecretary, no less. Neither official noticed the couple's reaction when they spotted Tonks; their eyes narrowed and she was treated to matching aristocratic sneers. She scowled and turned away, determined not to let it affect her enjoyment of the evening.

Unfortunately, Chesney had noticed this incident as well. "Who are Lord and Lady Muck then? And what have _you_ done to them? Given their house-elf clothes or something?"

Tonks couldn't help sniggering at the idea. "Hah! I'd love to see their faces if someone did. No, that's just my aunt and uncle."

"Your _aunt and uncle_ …" He looked baffled for a moment, and then the Knut dropped. "Oh, so _they're_ the Malfoys! That little waste of space we met on the campsite was their son, right? Heard of them, of course, never actually run into them before." He looked at the Malfoys again with interest, and gulped slightly. "Er, that's the one you said was You-Know-Who's catamite, isn't it? You, erm … you weren't _serious_, were you?"

She glanced at them again. "Well I don't suppose he went _that_ far, no – but I'd put money on him having been a Death Eater. Got out of it by claiming the Imperius defence though."

Chesney gaped at her. "How did he get away with _that?_"

"Oh, he's smart," she said bitterly. "After what their precious little _Draco_ said to us, I looked the case up. Lucius Malfoy came into the Department the day after You-Know-Who vanished, and made what you could call a pre-emptive confession. Lots of sanctimonious hand-wringing about how he had big gaps in his memory over the last few years, felt sure he'd been under Imperius and done dreadful things. They _did_ find traces of the spell – he probably got one of his Death Eater pals to put it on him before he came in – and I wouldn't put it past him to have known how to use one of those Pensieve things to edit out anything incriminating. And he's always had lots of friends in high places, so if anybody argued they spoke up for him. I wouldn't be too surprised if he waved a large bag of gold in front of the right people as well. My aunt _probably_ wasn't one of them herself, I'll give her that, but I bet she supported him all the way. Lying toerags."

He shuddered. "You've got some funny relatives for an Auror, haven't you?"

"Don't I know it! My _other_ aunt and uncle were part of the merry band of death too, just so you know. They're in Azkaban now. Gives me a lot to live down in the Department, as you might imagine."

"Right." He was looking at her oddly, although he didn't seem to be shocked – if anything, he looked rather flattered. "You've never told me all that before."

"Would _you_ want to shout about it if they were your relatives?"

"Er, no, I suppose I wouldn't, really. But it's nice that you trust me to know." He flashed her a sudden nervous smile. "Your mum's their sister, then? What's she like?"

"Oh, she's terrifying," she replied with an evil grin. "Especially to her only daughter's boyfriends. Turns them into crested newts if she doesn't think they're good enough for me. You'll have to come and meet her sometime soon!"

"Right … thanks …" Chesney had the air of a man who didn't want to ask his girlfriend any further questions, for fear that it would turn out that she wasn't actually joking. "Er – shall we go and get a drink? Thirsty work, the tango."

The bar was at one end of the ballroom, and proved to be staffed by more Ministry house-elves, eager to offer them a choice of at least sixteen different concoctions of their own devising, in addition to anything else they might care to name. Tonks randomly picked up something lime green, with silvery bubbles bursting on the surface and an apparent desire to make its own way out of the glass and explore. She was just taking an experimental sip when she heard a familiar voice behind her, and turned to see Cassius standing there. To her mild concern, but utter lack of surprise, he had Angelica Hallendale on his arm.

"Hi, mate," she said. "You made it then?"

"I _told_ you I'd be here, didn't I?" he said, turning to the bar. An elf tried to offer him a glass of something inky-looking which he turned down with a shudder, instead picking up a couple of champagne flutes and handing one to his companion. He nodded towards the other side of the room, with a plea in his eyes. "You'll have to join us – our table's over there, with a chap who works down the hall. This is actually turning out to be fun," he added reassuringly as Tonks gave him a worried look. "I haven't been to one of these Balls for _years_."

"And I've _never_ been to one, so I jumped at the chance to go," said Angelica with amusement, looking around them. "Hank never quite managed to be _respectable_ enough to wangle us some tickets, and you don't get scalpers in the wizarding world, do you?"

"Erm – no, I suppose not," said Tonks, confused. She had a momentary mental picture of someone casting an extremely unpleasant hex, but let it pass with a mental shrug. "Are you enjoying it?"

"Very much. Did I –" she looked slightly embarrassed "– really see you and your young man dancing earlier on? I said to Cassius that it looked like you, but, well …"

"Practice," said Tonks airily. "Makes perfect, you know." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Chesney trying very hard to keep a straight face.

Cassius grinned. "Well, in that case … may I cut in? I'm sure this young chap won't mind." He offered Tonks his arm, which she accepted with a reasonable approximation of a demure smile. Angelica shook her head in amused disbelief.

"Oh well, if you're going to just go off and leave me like _that_," said Chesney, with mock-offence. "I'll just have to steal somebody else's date. Madam, would you accompany me?"

"Oh!" Angelica looked startled, but then said, with a grin, "Why not?" They swept onto the floor, with Tonks and Cassius following at a more sedate pace. She still didn't quite trust herself not to trip over things when the shoes weren't doing all the work for her.

"Are you sure about this?" murmured Cassius as they stepped onto the floor.

"Of course I am. I said I always intended to have a dance with you, didn't I? You're not decrepit yet."

"Actually, I meant are you sure about the _dancing_," he said, looking slightly annoyed. "I picked a simple waltz so you wouldn't have to do anything too complicated …"

"Ah. Sorry." She quickly explained about the dancing shoes. "So for tonight, at least, your toes are safe from me. However complicated it gets. If you're up to it, of course."

He snorted. "As you so rightly said, I'm not decrepit yet. And unlike you youngsters I happen to know what I'm doing, so I can probably show you a trick or two."

The music speeded up, and Tonks found the shoes moving her feet into position for a quickstep. To her amusement, Cassius spun her round with the aplomb of a dancing instructor. "So what's the situation with Angelica, then?" she asked, in between moves. "She seems very happy to be here – I thought you said it wasn't all that serious with you two?"

He rolled his eyes. "We've been through all this before, Tonks. I like her. I enjoy having a pleasant companion – not that you _aren't_, of course, but it's not quite the same thing. It may well all go horribly wrong when I have to talk to her after the Ball, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. For now, we're having fun. Your concerns have been duly noted."

"And ignored?"

"And filed for consideration at a suitable future time. And while we're on the subject," he said as the band paused for a moment between numbers, "how serious are you and young Chester there?"

"Ches_ney_," she corrected him, turning ever so slightly pink. "And the answer is – not _serious_, really, but I do like him. We've only been going out a couple of months, after all. "

"Long enough for you to have an idea," he pointed out as the music began again.

"Well then. What was it you said about you and your Angie? – we're not exactly going to run away to get married. Ches is a nice bloke, and I _do_ fancy him quite a lot. I'm not saying he's the love of my life or anything – it hasn't got _that_ far! – but I'm definitely willing to give it a chance and see how things go. If it doesn't work out, then it doesn't."

"Well then yourself. Grant me the same courtesy with regard to Angelica, will you? Believe me, if and when you find the love of your life, you'll _know_ – whether it's quite what you expected or not. Remember, Tonks, I've _already_ had it happen to me, so I do know the difference between _that_ and _this_, yes?"

"Fair point," she said apologetically. Over his shoulder, she could see Beatrice Easton and her husband sitting at a table, and pointed them out to Cassius, who nodded in recognition. Beatrice seemed embarrassed when Tonks winked at her; she made a quick mental note to update her on the target she mentally thought of as 'Scarf Boy', at least if they ever got any closer to finding him. "Nice robes, Cassius, by the way. Very smart. Very … classic."

"Very old-fashioned, you mean? Well, as I said, I haven't had much call to wear them for a few years. And it could be worse." He chuckled. "The robes in style when _I_ was a young man tended to be trimmed with lace, for some reason. You have _no idea_ how glad I was when those went out of fashion. Shall we go and sit down now? I thought I saw Angelica and your young fellow taking a break."

"OK. You'll have to show me where to go, though."

As they picked their way through the maze of tables along the edges of the room, Tonks noticed. Norah O'Gregan sitting at one of them and nearly said a semi-polite _hello_ before she remembered that she wasn't actually supposed to have ever met her. Her colleague's wife was in the company of an older man that Tonks presumed must be the 'Francis Bletchley' she'd talked about in Carrack's salon. Fortunately Donnacha and Rhiannon were nowhere in sight. She nudged Cassius and pointed them out.

"Ah, yes," he said. "Yes, well-connected chap. I attended one of his musical evenings once. I'm sure many of the guests there didn't _entirely_ approve of Emily, but the invitation had already gone out so there wasn't much they could say. And we'd learnt to ignore that sort of behaviour by then."

"What sort of reaction is Angelica getting?" she asked curiously. "It can't be all that common to bring a Muggle to one of these dos."

"You'd be surprised. And to answer your question, we've had one or two odd looks but no-one's actually said anything yet. Of course, most of the people here would have no way of knowing that she's a Muggle, so that may be why. Bletchley is all right though, I think."

Tonks glanced back at Norah and her escort. She got a distinct impression that he was somewhat ill-at-ease, although if so, whatever it was about didn't seem to be related to his companion. He seemed positively boyish when speaking to her, and she in turn was smiling sweetly, with (to Tonks' eyes) a slightly triumphant expression, although she didn't expect Bletchley would notice that.

Their respective partners for the evening were indeed sitting at Cassius' table when they got there, but they weren't alone. A mildly alarmed-looking Angelica Hallendale was talking – or rather being talked at – by a man with thinning red hair. After a moment or two of racking her brains, she recognised him as Arthur Weasley, the Muggle Artefacts bloke who worked down the corridor from them. Chesney was listening to them, clearly amused, and a plump woman that she took to be Arthur's wife was rolling her eyes in exasperation

"But we so rarely have a Muggle visiting the Ministry!" he was saying in delight. "It's wonderful to see you here, I'm so glad you could come. What do you think of it?"

"Er ... well, it's quite impressive," said Angelica helplessly, "all the, erm, charmwork in the decorations …"

"How would you Muggles do it? Would you have eclectic sportlights?"

"Well, I suppose so, yes …"

"Arthur, that's enough, leave the poor woman alone now," interrupted his wife. Tonks could detect a distinct note of steel in her voice. Mrs Weasley looked up and saw Tonks still on Cassius' arm; she raised her eyebrows slightly, but didn't say anything. Tonks, embarrassed, hastily moved over to sit with Chesney, as Cassius sat down by an obviously amused Angelica.

"Wotcher, Mr Weasley," said Tonks, breaking what threatened to be a slightly awkward silence. "I'm Tonks. I don't think we've actually spoken to each other, but I've seen you passing through the Department plenty of times."

She could see recognition dawning. "Oh yes, you work with Cassius here, don't you? In fact –" he coughed "– I think my son mentioned meeting you. Er, my son Percy, that is, you may know some of the others, I'm not sure. Don't you usually have pink hair?"

"Well, yes, quite often …" At the mention of his other sons, a bell rang for Tonks too. "Oh hang on, are you Charlie Weasley's parents? He was in my year at school! And _Bill_ Weasley too, then? I remember he was Head Boy when I was there, I had a bit of a crush on him actually …"

Mrs Weasley positively beamed. "Yes, those are my boys. They've all done so well for themselves! Did you know Bill's a curse-breaker for Gringotts now? We went to visit him in Egypt last year, we never thought we'd be able to take the whole family out there but we were so lucky, we won the draw in the _Prophet_! And Charlie works with dragons out in Romania – I must admit I worry about him sometimes, but he says he's having the time of his life. Percy works for Barty Crouch, he's his personal assistant, as you know …"

"Yes, well, I'm sure Miss Tonks doesn't want the life story of our family, Molly," interrupted Arthur with a smile.

"Where _is_ Crouch tonight?" asked Chesney. "You'd have expected him to turn up."

"Hasn't been well, apparently," said Tonks. "He looked _terrible_ when I went to his office. Has your son said anything about him, Arthur?"

"Just a little," he said wryly. "He talks more about Crouch than he does about his girlfriend. But Barty's otherwise engaged tonight."

"Ooh, where?"

"Ah well, all will be revealed later. It's Hallowe'en, remember?" He winked at them, but the only one who seemed to understand him was Chesney, who looked baffled for a moment but then nodded in recognition.

"Is this your young man, dear?" asked Molly, nodding at Chesney.

"He is," said Tonks. She nodded at Arthur. "Is this yours?"

"He is," said Molly, chuckling. "I'll get him dancing in a moment, I promise."

"Not as young as I was …" mumbled Arthur.

"Reluctant, Arthur?" Angelica Hallendale grinned at him. "Come on, even Cassius here dances, and he's a lot older than you!" The man in question seemed rather alarmed at being brought into the conversation in this way, and exchanged rueful looks with Arthur Weasley.

Molly leaned towards Angelica with a conspiratorial look. "He always was a bit embarrassed being out on the dance floor in public, dear, even when we used to jive to Celestina when we were young."

"Shame on you, Arthur!" Angelica told him, evidently enjoying herself. "Why did you bring your wife here if you weren't going to dance with her?"

"It was my birthday yesterday, dear. It's my treat."

"Well then! When are you going to show the lady a good time?"

Molly Weasley's face suddenly acquired a very mischievous look. "Oh well, Arthur _did_ take the day off yesterday. Percy was working, and our younger ones are at school, so we had the house all to ourselves …"

Arthur made a strangled noise and leapt up, his ears going crimson. "Shall we dance, Molly?"

Molly gave him a big smile. "I'd love to, Arthur." She winked at Tonks and Angelica as they moved away.

-----

The evening continued to pass pleasantly, as the couples moved between the table and the bar and the dancefloor (with a short detour to get their photographs taken standing next to the World Cup). Cassius and Arthur kept the party entertained by exchanging tales about unusual past cases and bizarrely charmed Muggle artefacts, and Tonks added a few stories of her own from her training, ones that didn't involve embarrassing pratfalls while attempting Stealth and Tracking.

Tonks and Chesney returned from the dancefloor after one such excursion to find Montgomery Hallendale by their table, in the company of a slight, dark-haired girl. He seemed to be introducing her to his mother. He looked a little embarrassed when he caught Tonks' eye, and hastily made his excuses and left.

"My younger boy, Montgomery," Angelica explained to a puzzled Chesney, with a wink to Tonks, who was sure that Angelica knew all about the interest her son had previously shown. "And that young lady works in the office of the International Magical Trading Standards Body. I believe they met when he went in there to check what he needed to do to bring in magical materials via his Muggle shipping business. He's really doing very well for himself in that line, especially for a wizard …" She trailed off at the sight of the slightly too polite smiles on the faces of her companions. "Or am I starting to sound like that Molly woman?"

"A bit," said Chesney before Tonks could decide what to say. He quickly added, "But that's all right, you're supposed to be proud of your children, aren't you?"

"How the other one doing?" asked Tonks. Angelica winced and Cassius made a face.

"Clark? Not as well as Montgomery, I'm afraid, but he makes a living. He insisted on meeting us in the Atrium at the end of the evening. Do make my apologies if I have to dash off early, won't you?" Her voice sounded tight, and Tonks remembered that her relationship with her older son was somewhat fractious, according to Cassius. She didn't press the matter, and fortunately at that point the Weasleys returned.

"You don't mind us sitting with you …" asked Arthur, gesturing vaguely at the seats. He looked slightly out of breath.

"Not at all," said Tonks. Arthur and Molly seemed to be pleasant enough people, even if they were mildly eccentric (but then, that was hardly unusual in the wizarding world). Angelica Hallendale looked uncertain for a moment but then smiled and nodded.

"Are you and Cassius off duty tonight then?" asked Arthur, sinking into a chair in relief.

"I am," said Cassius. "Well, technically I suppose an Auror is Never Off Duty and all that, but I'm certainly not on night shift and I managed to stay off the emergency call rota." He frowned. "I thought Tonks _was_ on that rota, actually. Did you switch?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm down to be called in if anything urgent happens."

"Don't you need your wand handy?" asked Arthur curiously. His face went rather red. "Surely there's nowhere to put it in, erm, …"

She took pity on him. "These dress robes? No problem." She picked at her arm and a strip of cloth appeared; she peeled it back to reveal the wand attached there, just as it had been in her house-elf disguise. "The new top-of-the-range Blackstock product line wand holder with special Invisibility Spell, due to hit the shops in Diagon Alley next week. Our department got a sneak preview and I … erm, _forgot_ to hand this one back after an operation the other day."

"I wondered where that had got to," said Cassius with a smile. "So did K, I hear …" Tonks coughed.

"Oh, that's ingenious!" said Arthur, examining the strip of charmed cloth closely. "I must mention this to our twins, they love that sort of gadget. They're always inventing things themselves …" His wife looked mildly disapproving, but any comment she might have been intending to make was forestalled when a magically magnified voice announced that the Minister for Magic was about to speak.

The band cut short their number, and as the couples out on the floor made their way back to the tables Tonks could see the Minister up on an impromptu platform talking earnestly to Amelia Bones and Rufus Scrimgeour, both of whom looked discontented with what they were hearing. Fudge had evidently decided to play the popularity card tonight and was dressed in robes of a bright emerald that didn't suit him in the slightest, but mercifully he had at least left his lime-green bowler at home. Most people looked on politely as he made his speech without really paying much attention, Tonks among them; she noticed a slight grin on Arthur's face and followed his gaze to where his son was listening to the Minister with rapt interest.

Awards of some sort were handed out to the Irish team and their coaching staff following the speech, and Tonks suddenly realised who was missing from the presentation party. "Where's Ludo Bagman tonight?" she asked, "Shouldn't _he_ be the one doing this?"

"I think I know where he might be," said Chesney. "Same place as Crouch, Arthur?"

"I imagine so," he replied with a chuckle and a wink.

"What do you two know that I don't?" asked Tonks, annoyed.

"Just think of a story that was in the paper at the beginning of September," said Chesney with a maddening grin.

"Well whatever it was, I must have missed it. I was busy," she said tetchily. She remembered spending the first part of that month shut away in her flat, reading through the notes that Kingsley had provided for her. "Come on, you can tell me, Ches," she said in a cajoling voice. "I thought you _cared_ …"

"Who, me? Nah, must have been a couple of other people who look like me."

"I _think_ Cornelius Fudge might be going to talk about it himself, dear," said Molly, who had actually been watching the presentation. Tonks began to listen more carefully as Fudge began to waffle about the revival of the _Triwizard Tournament_, of all things. She looked around her; there were many guests who seemed as surprised as she was, but a fair proportion of the people present were nodding in recognition.

"I didn't know about that!" she cried. "When was it announced?"

"It _was_ in the paper a couple of months back," said Chesney, smirking. "I was waiting for it to appear."

"Oh yes, of course," said Cassius with a frown. "The announcement wasn't on the front page, though, was it? You'd have expected it to be, really – I don't think that Tournament's been held since before _I_ was at school."

"I think Fudge wanted to downplay it a bit after everything that happened at the World Cup," said Arthur Weasley with a sigh.

Tonks suddenly realised the implication of her boyfriend's last remark. "Wait a minute, Ches, you were _waiting_ for it to appear? Did you know about it beforehand then?"

"Might have done," he said, tapping his nose. "Remember the Experimental Charms work we were doing? Especially that one I used on you?"

"Damn! Git." She was regretting not having paid more attention to the gossip with everything that was going on. "Wish they'd held it when _I_ was there. I'd have put myself down to have a go."

Chesney gave a rueful laugh. "_I_ wouldn't. But then, I've got some idea what they'll be facing …"

Molly Weasley's face fell at that. "Oh dear. I thought they were really trying to make the Tournament _safe_ this time, Arthur!"

"I don't think the tasks are actually _meant_ to be _entirely_ safe, you know, Molly," he replied gently. "Charlie's helping with the set up for one of them, remember."

"_Charlie's_ doing something for this?" asked Tonks. "What did you say he's doing now?"

"Dragon handling in Romania," said Arthur with a touch of pride.

Angelica Hallendale looked at Molly in sympathy. "I bet you're worried about that?"

Molly smiled sadly. "Yes, dear. Any mother would be, wouldn't they?"

"Oh I'm sure he'll be OK, Molly," said Tonks brightly. "I remember he was old Kettleburn's star pupil."

"I hope so. I know it's a horrible thing to say, but I'm just glad _my_ children are too young to compete in this Tournament. I was scared to death on the night of the World Cup."

"You were there too, Mrs Weasley?" asked Cassius.

She shuddered. "No, at home. Arthur and the children went off to the site the day before, and then when I tuned into the WWN to see if the match was still going on, the news came on and my clock went haywire and I was _stuck_ there in the house, not knowing whether they were all right or whether I'd never see them again like my brothers and …" She trailed off at the sight of Angelica Hallendale's pursed lips and white face. "Erm, are you feeling all right, dear?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Molly. Bad memories too."

"Your sons went to the World Cup as well?"

"Yes, but that wasn't what … oh never mind. It's not important." Tonks bit her lip. She was fairly sure she knew what Angelica meant, but it wasn't her place to say so. The table had suddenly gone very quiet.

"I'm sorry if I upset you," said Molly, looking puzzled.

Angelica exchanged glances with Cassius and Tonks. "It's not you, it's just … oh, you might as well know. In the war, my husband was one of those who went off on business and _didn't_ come back. I guess your brothers were too."

Molly looked horrified. "Oh, my dear! I'm so sorry, I never realised." She shuddered again and patted Angelica's hand. "I know how you must feel, it's horrible …"

"Try not to dwell on it now, Angelica," said Cassius quietly.

"No … no I suppose not. But I _know_ what Molly must have felt like. Every time Hank left for a business meeting, I was terrified at what might happen to him. And then those last people he met –" she shuddered too "– I never liked the sound of them, and I was right. They turned out to be _Death Eaters_."

Arthur Weasley looked sombre. "Did they kill him?"

"Yes. Well, maybe. That's the thing, I don't even really _know_. There were four of them – Bellingham, Richardson, Jugson, and Harper – and I never did know what they wanted, but some of your Ministry guys turned up, and a fight started. I guess anything could have happened."

"You knew who he was meeting, then?" asked Tonks warily. She forced herself not to glance in Cassius' direction.

Angelica had a positively vicious look. "Oh, not at the time, but I remembered their names all right. Two of them were killed, and good riddance. The other two are in Azkaban and I hope they _rot_ there. I never found out who your Ministry people there were. I don't suppose _they_ took all that much care to see who they were aiming at either. Er, sorry, Cassius, Miss Tonks. Nothing personal."

The Weasleys looked shocked. "Oh my dear, I didn't know," Molly said again.

"No reason why you should know, Molly. Just an old wound I haven't got over yet. But then I probably never will, so like Cassius says, I shouldn't dwell on it tonight." Angelica reached for her wineglass and drained it, a brittle smile on her face. "Damn, I feel like another dance. Cassius?

Cassius started in surprise; he seemed understandably distracted. "Oh, erm … actually, I really do need to take, ah, a bit of a breather …"

"Come on Mrs Hallendale. I'll dance with you," said Chesney, getting up. "If my partner doesn't mind, of course?" He winked at Tonks, who could have kissed him for offering to remove Angelica from the table at that point.

She pretended to look offended, but didn't do a very good job of it. "Go ahead then. Leave me for an older woman!"

"Well if you insist …" he said with a grin, leading Angelica away.

Unfortunately, Tonks didn't get the chance to talk to Cassius by himself, and found herself making general conversation as Molly chatted happily about her children, starting with Charlie and moving on to the rest. Arthur was talking at high speed to Cassius about the workings of Muggle gadgetry, apparently under the impression that if he had brought a Muggle to the Ball then he must personally be an expert. Cassius looked like a man who would, on the whole, have preferred not to have become involved in a discussion of the subject at this particular time, but was too polite to cut Arthur off.

Fortunately, Angelica and Chesney eventually returned, and as he swept Tonks back out onto the dance floor she could see Angelica taking the brunt of the conversation as Molly talked in stilted fashion to Cassius. Then the band started to play a slow, eminently smoochable number and Tonks decided that she had far more interesting things to think about.

-----

Eventually midnight came and went and the Ball started to break up as people drifted home. Molly and Arthur made their apologies and slipped away at a quarter past. By the time Tonks and Chesney were ready to go, it was past one o'clock and the band had started playing bizarre requests.

They found an empty lift to take them down to the Atrium, and the few minutes taken up by the journey were mostly spent snogging. So when the doors opened it took them a moment or two to realise that they had arrived in the middle of a blazing row.

A young man who seemed vaguely familiar (and quite definitely drunk) was shouting at Angelica, who was evidently furious, and Cassius, who simply looked upset. Montgomery Hallendale was standing to one side, looking hugely embarrassed, and his date was glancing back and forth between the other members of the party with a completely baffled expression.

"What are you doing with that old fart anyway?" cried the young man.

"CLARK!" Angelica practically screamed at her younger son. "That's enough!"

"That's out of order, Clark," added his brother, glancing nervously at Cassius. Tonks and Chesney looked at each other open-mouthed for a moment and then stepped out of the lift.

"Oh thank _you_ for your help, Mr Perfect Son," spat Clark, to the discomfiture of everyone present. He sounded both angry and hurt, as if he felt betrayed by the mere presence of Cassius. "I've told you, you don't want to mess with people like him! Don't you care about Dad any more?"

Angelica went white again. "Don't you _ever_ say that again, Clark," she said in a low, dangerous voice. "Cassius is a gentleman, and I … I … I _do_ think of him as a friend. And if I choose to accompany him to a dance that is _my_ business and _my_ business alone and has _nothing_ to do with my feelings for your father!"

A few other people leaving the Ball were laughing and pointing as they passed by, and Cassius looked as if he would prefer to just fade into the scenery. Tonks edged up to him and muttered,. "Is everything all right?" Unfortunately, Clark Hallendale heard and turned on her with a shout.

"And who's _she?_"

"She's that shape-changing _Auror_ I mentioned a while ago, if it _matters_ to you," snapped Angelica, who sounded brittle, as if she'd reached the end of her tether. "She's Cassius' partner."

Clark Hallendale looked shocked; he spat a swear word and made a sudden move as if about to reach for his wand; but Tonks, anticipating this, had her own wand detached and levelled before he could even reach it. As they locked eyes she silently challenged him: _come on then, have a go if you think you're hard enough_. He held her gaze only briefly before dropping his eyes in panic.

"OK, that's enough!" said Angelica, a note of hysteria in her voice now. "Cassius, thank you for a lovely evening –" he smiled politely, but not cheerfully "– but we need to go before my son makes an even _bigger_ fool of himself than he has already." She gave Cassius a swift kiss on the cheek and nodded to her other son, who said a hasty goodbye to his girl, took a grip on his brother's arm (Clark tried to shrug him off, but he just held tighter) and almost frogmarched him to the nearest Floo exit.

As the Hallendales disappeared into the flames, the remainder of the party stared at each other. Tonks could see that Chesney was as astonished as she was. The girl that Montgomery had just stood up looked as if she might explode, and stormed off in the direction of the fireplaces. Cassius was clearly miserable.

"Thank you for staring him down, Tonks," he said quietly. "I didn't want to have cause to arrest him. I didn't want to make Angelica feel even worse. I'll, er, talk to her soon. Goodnight, then."

-----

"Well, _that_ was an eventful end to the evening, wasn't it?" said Tonks, after she and Chesney had said hasty goodbyes and Apparated back to her flat. She tapped her wand on the lock of the front door and it sprung open.

"Oh." Chesney seemed disappointed at the idea that the evening was ending there, and grabbed her for a lingering goodnight kiss. "Well. Yes. Night then."

Tonks fought hard not to grin. He really was being rather obvious; not that she could blame him. She gave him a smile that was as demure and innocent as she could possibly make it. "Why, what else did you have in mind?"

Chesney's face went slightly pink and he looked rather sheepish, but obviously determined not to let himself be brushed off too easily. "Well, I _did_ say the sight of you in those robes made me want to tear them off you," he said, trying to make a joke of it but unable to conceal that he meant every word.

"Oh!" said Tonks, deadpan. "Right. I see." She turned away from him for a moment to push the front door fully open, and couldn't resist a private smirk. She turned back to him. "Well, if _that's_ the way you feel …"

"Yes?" He looked half hopeful, half aghast that he might have said the wrong thing.

Her smile this time held nothing of demureness or innocence. "It'd be a shame to waste it then, wouldn't it? You'd better come in …"

-----

_Sunday 1__st__ November 1994_

She was woken the following morning by the little bit of late autumn morning sunshine that was all that ever managed to make its way into an Islington flat. As she lay back and stretched she couldn't keep a big grin off her face. Neither could Chesney once her movements woke him up.

She actually found herself whistling one of the Weird Sisters' bouncier tunes a little later on while making breakfast. Chesney stepped into the kitchen with a mock-pained expression and his fingers in his ears, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Oh, get the milk out, Ches. Make yourself useful."

"I thought I already did that," he said, grinning. He opened the door of the fridge and bent down to reach to the back for the milk. As he rose, Tonks met his eyes, and out of the blue felt a sudden jolt of realisation. A single very loud swear word escaped from her lips before she could stop herself.

"Well, if you insist …" said Chesney, with a lewd look. "Sounds good to me …" There must have been a strange expression on her face, because he trailed off, confused. "What's the matter?"

Tonks smiled, not wanting to let him see how distracted she was. She didn't want to spoil the moment. _Make a joke of it, that's best, don't jump to conclusions, I need to think about this …_ "Nothing, I hope. Just a … um, job-related thought I had. Being around you seems to give me a lot of interesting ideas, Ches!"

Chesney smirked as he put the milk bottle down on the table and reached for her. "Snap …"


	26. Flushing the Game

**25. Flushing the Game**

_Monday 2__nd__ November 1994_

For the rest of that Sunday, Tonks spent as much time examining her memory as she could spare from … well, pressing personal matters. Try as she might, she was unable to come to comfortable conclusions.

Cassius was in his cubicle when she arrived on Monday morning, although he didn't look up as she passed. He seemed to be trying to write a report, scratching out a sentence or two, then breaking off to stare into space. She grimaced and made her way over to Cornworthy's cubicle. Fortunately, he wasn't busy, merely chatting to O'Gregan in a desultory fashion about Ministry politics.

"Arnie, can I borrow the Image Projector again?".

He nodded and reached into the cubbyhole under his desk. "Of course you can. What for this time?"

"Just an idea I had. I'll tell you if it makes sense once I've had a play around." She nodded in the general direction of Cassius, who looked distracted even from a distance. "What's up with him?"

Cornworthy shrugged. "Beats me. He's been like that ever since we came in. Barely reacted when I asked him when he wanted our report on the Carrack and Ashford interrogations."

"Somethin' to do with that row on Saturday night, so it is," added O'Gregan sententiously. "Don't suppose his lady friend was too happy with him."

"Probably," replied Tonks, with a sinking feeling. She tucked the Image Projector under her arm and took a quick trip to Level Four, then found a vacant interview room in which to experiment. She had no intention of letting anyone know what she had in mind until she'd had a chance to see if it made sense. Half an hour later, she had a series of projections of eyes and upper faces in front of her, and could see that it did.

Her heart sank, but she couldn't honestly tell herself she was surprised. She sighed, picked up the Projector and went to find Cassius, who was still making slow progress on his report.

"Cassius, can I have a word?"

He jumped. "Yes, of course," he said, shaking himself. "What is it?"

"You're really not going to like this, but … it's about what happened on Saturday night."

He nodded sadly. "I haven't said anything yet. I'm not sure if I can look her in the eye ever again. How's the case going?"

Tonks winced at his choice of words. She picked up the Image Projector with a heavy heart, and adjusted it to display the memories she'd pieced together. "Take a gander at these. Tell me which ones you think look alike."

He took the Projector in confusion and examined the memories of eyes and foreheads, flipping back and forth until he was sure. "Right, number two, number six, and number nine. They appear to be three views of our Butler friend, two with the scarf, one without." He perked up. "Do you mean you have an identification?"

"You _definitely_ think they're the same person?"

He checked again, looking very closely. "Well … yes. What are you saying?"

Tonks summoned all her nerve, and managed to keep her voice steady. "Number six is the Butler, it's my recollection from the night I met him in the Toad. I made it at the time when it was still fresh in my mind. Number nine is also the Butler, I got it from Beatrice this morning – she's still so worried by the whole thing the Projector was able to pick up a clear memory. Number two … that's a memory from Saturday night when I was staring into somebody _else's_ eyes … "

He gaped. "What? Tonks … You don't mean your …" He trailed off.

Tonks realised what he meant and flushed. "What? Don't be silly!"

"But then …"

"I had him at _wandpoint_ on Saturday. Cassius? It's Clark Hallendale."

-----

Cassius stared blankly at her for quite a while. Finally he broke the silence, speaking in a low voice. "No."

"I'm afraid so … I knew _something_ rang a bell when I saw his picture at Angelica's, then again on Saturday night, except I was a bit –" she coughed "– _distracted_ when I got out the lift. But then I did a bit of experimentation with the Projector …"

"I said NO!" He interrupted with a shout, and emphasised the point with a fist slammed onto the desk, both of which drew odd looks from the other Aurors.

"Cassius, you said _yourself_ it's the same person," she pointed out, as gently as possible.

"_No_." His voice was firm, but there was an almost pleading look in his eyes. "How could it be?"

"Well …" She had a nasty feeling she might get her head bitten off, but had little choice. "He's a bit of a dodgy character. I looked up his record on the WEB Access, and no-one actually knows how he makes his money. People seem to think his brother and mother help him out, but we don't _know_ that, do we? He fits the general physical type of the 'Butler'. His lack of magical skill fits the profile too – he's definitely the sort of person who would have to resort to a simple blasting spell to kill. Remember, he's got a record for getting into fights and _losing_ them. And the man I met didn't do anything much when I fought him – one spell put him out of action, and it wasn't even a proper hex, just a Banishing Charm."

"But where would he get _Liquor of Jacmel_ from? Enough of it to _supply to others?_ It doesn't grow on trees!"

"I was thinking about that," she said sadly. "Remember what Barry Lewis said - he reckoned the Butler took over the 'business' from someone who used to be in the trade, with contacts out in the Caribbean?"

"But who would that be …" He closed his eyes. "I see," he said in a strangled voice. "Hank Hallendale, you mean?"

"Sorry Cassius, but it would fit, wouldn't it?" She spoke quickly, determined to make her point before he could raise objections. "Angelica said they spent years flitting round out there getting into scrapes, and she _admitted_ that a lot of what they did was shady. What if it was _more_ than just shady? What if Hank was in touch with the _really_ dangerous people out there, the ones who know how to brew Jacmel? In fact, what if he even _knowingly_ went to meet with those Death Eaters that night to talk to them about buying the stuff?"

Cassius looked at her, tormented. "And Angelica? Do you think she's involved too? If she was, why would she even risk _talking_ to me, an Auror, let alone spending _time_ with me, or discussing the incident where Hank was killed? How long have you thought this?"

"Only since yesterday morning," she said, upset. "It sort of fitted into place then, but it must have been building up subconsciously for a while. I just had too many _other_ things going on to realise. I _like_ Angelica, but … I haven't really been sure about you seeing her, have I? I mean, she even _said_ she never asked her husband about his past, that she knew what he got up to was a bit dubious."

"Dubious, yes, but not _Dark Magic!_"

"Well … to be honest, I think she'd have looked the other way whatever Hank did, just so long as they had enough to get by. She seems to have been besotted with him, you can tell by the way she talks about him. And you've seen what she's like about her kids – I reckon she'd shut her eyes to _anything_ they might have done, up to and including murder. Just like Ashford with his nephew and nieces." The thought _just like me with Uncle Sirius?_ flashed through her mind, but she shook it off.

"Go on," he said wearily as she hesitated. "Finish it, now you've started."

"I don't know as much about them as you do, but I got the impression on Saturday night that Clark idolised his dad. Want to bet he'd stay in the same line of business? And that briefing paper on Liquor of Jacmel said the people who actually _make_ the stuff out in Haiti are suspicious of outsiders, and it's very hard to buy some unless you have some link with them. Hank was a charmer by all accounts, though, _he_ might have won their trust. And I should think that if you were the son of a former customer, they'd be a lot more inclined to do business with you. It's the way those things work out there, isn't it?"

"And your theory is what, that he might do the same as his father? Sell the potion to the remnants of the Death Eaters, if they intend to start making trouble again?" He didn't even seem to be trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Tonks shrugged. "I've no idea what he might be planning to do. But can we afford to take the risk? They can't _all_ have been able to do Imperius Curses, but they could certainly slip a potion into someone's drink. And if they've decided it's time for a replay, we need to put a stop to this Jacmel trade _right now_ before it causes us real trouble. You said so yourself." She paused, willing him to accept what she was saying as reasonable. "Look, mate, it's all speculation apart from the Image Projection, and I'll admit that could be challenged, but … it would fit. We've got to _investigate_ it at least, haven't we? We can't just let it go, now we've thought of it!"

"No, I suppose we can't," he said, the expression on his face so bleak it left Tonks herself feeling miserable. "I should have known this was too good to be true. Let's go and talk to him, then." He rose and began to gather his things together, then stopped dead. A peculiar noise, half way between a whimper and a sob, escaped from his throat.

Tonks looked up, startled. "Cassius?" When he didn't say anything, she repeated, "_Cassius!_ Are you OK?"

"Yes. Or rather no. I've just thought of another little bit of information that would fit Clark. That damned _nickname_. The _Butler_."

"Why?" asked Tonks, bemused. "Was he in the butlering trade at some time?"

Cassius sighed heavily. "No. Angelica's fond of the 'movies'. She told us she named her sons after Muggle film stars, remember? Or maybe you don't. They got their names from Montgomery Clift and _Clark Gable_." Seeing Tonks' blank expression, he added in irritation, "Whose most famous role was _Rhett Butler_. Remember Lewis said the 'Butler' seemed to think the nickname was a great joke? From what I've heard about Clark, it's _exactly_ the sort of thing that would amuse him."

He hung his head. Tonks bit her lip. "Oh Cassius. I'm sorry." She reached out awkwardly to pat his arm.

"It doesn't matter," he said, shrugging it off. "Let's go."

-----

Neither of them were especially surprised to discover that Clark Hallendale was not at home to visitors. After a brief consultation, they took a slight risk by magically opening the door to investigate – but he didn't appear to have been there for a few days, insofar as it was possible to tell from the congealed remains of an old meal on the kitchen table.

None of his neighbours seemed to know him well – although this was expected for a wizard – but one mentioned that she thought he sometimes went to Worthing – _no surprises there_ – or to visit his brother. "Owns some big company in London," she said vaguely. "Don't know the name, though."

A brief call to ask Cornworthy to look up the details proved fruitless, as neither Montgomery nor his company had ever been listed in Auror records. Fortunately, Tonks recalled the Hallowe'en Ball and decided to try the International Magical Trading Standards Body. Even two days later, Montgomery's disgruntled date was still seething, and when she recognised Tonks and Cassius treated them to a long diatribe. "I bet he only asked me out to get information about our reaction if he imported magical things via his stupid Muggle shipping company," she concluded. "Well, he won't get permission if _I've_ got anything to do with it!"

"Who decides?" asked Cassius.

"The boss – Mr Crouch. Though mind you," she added bitterly, "he's getting so erratic he might just sign the form without looking at it. Poor sod's been cracking up ever since the World Cup …"

"What's the company name?" interrupted Tonks. She didn't think the troubles of Barty Crouch, however entertaining, were anything the Auror Office needed to take an interest in. Unless of course Monty Hallendale had decided to use Liquor of Jacmel on him to get his form signed, which seemed a little extreme even if his brother really _was_ the source of the stuff.

"The 'Greater Antilles Mercantile and Shipping Corporation'," she said, referring to a piece of parchment in the file. "They move stuff between Britain and some of those islands out in the Caribbean."

"Which ones?" asked Tonks, as the woman copied the address onto a spare memo pad.

She shrugged. "Mostly the big ones, according to this. Jamaica, Puerto Rico, Cuba, Hispaniola." At the last two names Tonks flashed a significant look at Cassius, who nodded in resigned agreement.

"Very well. Thank you for your time. I think we need to pay Mr Hallendale a visit."

"Are you going to arrest him?" she asked hopefully.

Cassius winced. "Ah … we'll let you know."

-----

The headquarters of the Greater Antilles Mercantile and Shipping Corporation proved to be a modest suite of rooms on the fourteenth floor of a London office block. They were met by a snooty secretary who attempted to rebuff them by claiming that Montgomery Hallendale was busy, but her resistance crumbled into panic as soon as Tonks waved Transfigured 'police identification' at her, and she started gabbling into the intercom.

Montgomery was sitting at his desk, looking flustered, when they strode into the office. He jumped up and shooed out the secretary, who was now bobbing anxiously in the doorway, and cast a privacy charm on the office as soon as she was out of sight. Then he sat down again and looked at the Aurors with considerable irritation. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Well, that's nice," said Tonks equably. "We wanted to talk to you about your brother."

"Why? What's he done?"

"Did we say he'd done anything?" countered Tonks.

Montgomery sighed. "_Every_ time someone from the Ministry asks me about Clark, it's because he's supposed to have done something, Miss Tonks. It isn't usually Aurors, I'll admit."

"Look, can you just tell us where he might be?"

He sat back and looked at her thoughtfully: "I'm not inclined to point you in his direction without a good reason, no."

"We want to ask him questions concerning a murder inquiry. That good enough for you?" She flashed a quick glance at Cassius, who seemed perfectly willing to let Tonks take on the 'Bad Auror' role again.

"_Murder?_" he spluttered. "Clark? Don't be bloody ridiculous. Murder _who?_ Ask him _what_ questions?"

"I don't think we have to specify that."

"Well, unless you do I don't know that I have to help you, or have any reason to suppose Clark has anything to do with the matter you're referring to, do I?"

Tonks exchanged glances with Cassius, who shrugged listlessly. "We also want to talk to him about the sale of an illegal and very dangerous potion. And we have a definite identification of him in that case, so …"

There was a sudden sound like a pistol shot. It seemed to come from the other side of the wall behind Montgomery.

"… what was _that?_"

She darted over to the wall, where a few quick spells revealed a hidden door. Cassius had at least perked up enough to follow her, so she nodded to him and flung the door open, throwing up a Shield Charm to protect them. He fired a Stunner into the small room behind it, but the precautions proved unnecessary – there was no-one there.

They ignored the scowling Montgomery Hallendale and made a full inspection. The only furniture was a small desk, a chair, and a set of filing cabinets, which proved to contain wizarding paperwork relating to the business. Some of it looked a bit dubious to her inexpert eye, suggesting that Montgomery had been using spells to preserve cargoes and enhance the speed of his transports, but Tonks was quite happy to leave consideration of _that_ to the International Magical Trading Standards Body (who, she suspected, might have an employee interested in examining the paperwork more closely for signs of illegality).

She turned to Montgomery and snapped, "Right then. Who was that? Clark?"

"Who was who?" he asked urbanely.

"Don't play games with us, Monty! Was that noise your brother Disapparating?"

"Might have been. If so, I wasn't in the room to see. What if it was?"

"What if it _was_ … We told you he was wanted for questioning! You deliberately concealed his presence here!"

He smiled. It was quite clearly meant to irritate her, and it succeeded. "Actually, I didn't. I merely said I wasn't inclined to tell you without further information. Which I wasn't, and which I didn't get, incidentally."

"We could arrest you for that!" she spat. "We _told_ you he was under suspicion for murder! You deliberately stalled us and gave him time to get away!"

The smile became a smirk. "No, I merely said I didn't know that I had to help you. Of course, I'm not a legal wizard, but I do believe you need good cause before I _have_ to answer questions. You hadn't given me one yet …"

"He's within his rights, Tonks," said Cassius tiredly before Tonks could explode. He turned to Montgomery. "I'm sure you knew he was there, and I imagine you knew he could hear and would Disapparate at the first sign that we'd hit too close to home. I don't suppose you're going to tell us where you think he might have gone, are you?"

"No, and I've no idea where he would go anyway. I doubt it would be anywhere he's told me about."

"And you're happy that a murderer gets away, even if he is your brother?" snapped Tonks, as they made their way back into the main office.

He dropped into his chair and looked up at her. "_No_, I'm not happy. But I refuse to believe he _is_ a murderer merely on your say-so, without seeing some damn good evidence. And even if that is the case –" he sighed heavily "– well, as you say, he's still my brother. I wouldn't turn him away if he came to me for help, and I definitely wouldn't hand him over to be sent to Azkaban."

"I suppose your ships have been bringing in little packages for him, have they?"

"Do you really want to throw accusations like that around without proof, Miss Tonks?"

"No, but we could _get_ …"

Cassius tapped her on the arm. "Come on, Tonks, we're not going to get anything else here. At least we have reason to believe he's on the run now, so we can alert the Department. I would say thank you for your time, Montgomery, but …"

"Not really appropriate, is it, Smethwyck?"

As they turned to leave, Tonks said to him sarcastically, "I suppose you only asked _me_ out because you were hoping to find out what I knew about your brother, then?"

He looked surprised. "Well … yes."

"What?" She hadn't been expecting him to agree, and the fact that he did definitely hurt her pride. "I thought you fancied me or something!"

"Don't flatter yourself," he said tartly, then unbent slightly. "Well, all right, you're not bad-looking, I suppose. But that shape-shifting thing is just … _creepy_."

"Thank you, Montgomery. That will be all," said Cassius. He took a firm grip on the arm of a disgruntled Tonks and led her out of the office.

-----

"Very well, Donnacha. Let us know if anything turns up. We'll deal with things at this end."

Cassius tucked his mirror phone back into his pocket and turned back to Tonks, who had perched herself on the little table in the Worthing Floo station and public Apparition point while he contacted the office. She couldn't help but remember that they'd first met Angelica Hallendale in this very room.

"What are they doing for us?"

"Tracer spells round any locations they think he might visit. We've got enough to do that on suspicion, as with Beatrice at the Transfigured Toad."

"Right." _Not to mention with me and Mum, when they thought my cousin might turn up._ The memory made her uneasy, but she wasn't in a good position to complain. "Now what?"

Cassius didn't meet her eye. "You know what. I'm not exactly looking forward to this." He stared at nothing for a moment or two, then shook himself. "Well, come on. We're here now, we may as well get it over with. I don't suppose she'll want to talk to us either, but we have to try. She'll know we're coming. Even if Montgomery didn't just Apparate straight there, he will undoubtedly have telephoned."

"Are you OK to go and see her?" she asked, as they stepped out into the street. "Cassius, before we go … be honest now, just how much _do_ you feel for her?"

His lips tightened as if biting back a tart reply. "Friendship. Affection. A lot of fellow feeling. I'm going to really hate doing this. But no, I'm not in love with her if _that's_ what you're asking."

"Right. Good." She didn't say any more as they walked the short distance to Angelica's house, but really hoped Cassius was being honest with himself. As chat-up lines went, "_I want to lock up your firstborn son in an island fortress guarded by soul-sucking fiends, and by the way I may have accidentally killed the love of your life_" didn't really sound like a winner.

When they arrived, Tonks kept watch while Cassius busied himself with setting up the tracer spells. Angelica opened the door promptly at their knock; when her reddened eyes saw who it was, she turned and went back in without a word, although fortunately this left the door open behind her. Tonks exchanged looks of trepidation with Cassius and followed her into the lounge.

The room appeared much as it had done on her previous visit, with the Hamburghalle glasswork vase that had been Monty's gift still perched on its table, and the Best Kept Suburban Lawn visible through the window, as well-kept as ever, The only difference was the framed photographs of Angelica's sons and husband perched on the sideboard; Tonks realised that the pictures of Clark had been moved to the front, almost in challenge. She was reminded that Angelica had distracted her from looking at them closely the first time around, and wondered just how much she _had_ suspected about her son's activities.

Their hostess stood in front of the window with a far from welcoming expression. "I don't suppose I need to ask why you're here, Mr Smethwyck?"

Tonks noted that she didn't call him 'Cassius' and stole a glance to see how he would take that. He'd evidently noticed too, and it seemed to be causing him pain. She hastened to take the pressure off him. "Has Montgomery talked to you, Angelica?"

"That's 'Mrs Hallendale' to you," she said coldly. The contrast with her tone on Saturday night was quite shocking, although Tonks could tell from both voice and body language that she was hurting. "Yes, he's talked to me. No, I don't believe Clark had anything to do with what happened to Sylvester. No, I don't know where he would be at the moment, he doesn't tell his mother about his business affairs. And no, you don't really suppose I'd tell you even if I _did_ know, do you?"

"I suppose not, Ang …" began Cassius.

She interrupted, he voice icy. "_Mrs Hallendale_."

He hung his head for a moment. "Yes, I'm sorry. Look, we do realise this is a difficult thing to ask of you –" Angelica raised her eyebrows as if to say _no kidding_ "– but if Clark has got himself into something really bad, we have to try to get him out of it …"

"Oh don't lie to me like that!" she snapped. "Montgomery told me about the murder inquiry."

"He fled from the office when he wanted to interrogate him," said Tonks. "That was very suspicious …"

"I'm not surprised," said Angelica impatiently. "He never trusted your people, and I can't say I blame him. And what's this potion you want to talk to him about?"

"Liquor of Jacmel. Very dangerous."

"Yes, I know. You talked about it before when you were asking me about Sylvester. Don't pretend you don't remember, Miss Tonks!"

She hesitated. "Ang … er, Mrs Hallendale … if your son really is the one involved in these cases, you _must_ see that he could be dangerous to others. The man we're looking for tried to use Jacmel to kidnap _me_ once." Angelica looked momentarily sick, but managed to keep up her defiant stare. "And we're bound to track him down eventually –" she knew this was stretching a bit, but it was worth a shot "– unless he gets into the hands of some _really_ Dark wizards, and then I don't think he would stand much chance of survival unless he did much _worse_ things."

"Clark's only possible chance is to give the Ministry information that he can use to bargain his sentence down," put in Cassius quietly.

Angelica scowled. "No, Mr Smethwyck! His only possible chance is to stay out of your hands completely. If you _had_ any real evidence connecting him with these things, you'd have arrested him before now. So I don't see why he should let you force him to take truth drugs, just in case you can turn up evidence of something he _might_ have done. Delving into his mind is the only way you're going to actually get anything, isn't it?" Tonks looked to Cassius for confirmation; he seemed both startled and ashamed, which left her with a sinking feeling that the shot might have hit home. "I don't know where he might be, and if you think I'm going to tell you _anything_ about him, you've got another think coming! He's my son. I'd do anything it took to keep him off that island, _whatever_ he might or might not have done."

Cassius sighed. "You do know we've had to cast tracer spells around your house in case he turns up? And the same for Montgomery, of course."

"I dare say. We can't stop you, can we? Is there anything _else?_"

"No. No, I suppose not. Let's go, Tonks."

"Right." She couldn't resist a glance back at a stony-faced Angelica as she left, and that little inattention caused the disaster when she forgot about the loose rug. She caught her foot on it and was propelled forward into the table, ending up on the floor with a sudden thump that knocked the breath from her. Everything in her pockets flew out onto the carpet – wand, mirror phone, wizard detector, K's 'knife', a depressingly small number of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts – and then the table and the glass vase displayed on it came crashing down on top, the latter shattering into a thousand pieces on impact

There was complete silence for a moment or two, and then Angelica _screamed_ at her. The sound made Tonks shudder, a mixture of anguish, disbelief, loathing, and loss.

"Get _out!_"

Tonks, aghast, clambered to her feet, crunching more glass in the process. She began trying to pick out a few of the larger fragments from the debris. "I'm sorry …" she said in a very small voice. Even as she said it, she felt it utterly inadequate to cover the situation, and it didn't surprise her that Angelica Hallendale felt the same way.

"_Sorry?_"she cried, still screaming. In a kind of fury, she picked up all the bits and pieces that had fallen from Tonks' pockets, and practically threw them at her. "Get out! Go! I never want to see either of you again! _GO!_"

Cassius had been watching with a frozen expression. As Tonks stumbled away, putting her stuff back, he seemed to come to life. With a shaky hand he pointed his wand at the fragments of the vase and said "_Reparo!_" They flew back together, the resulting vase looking – as far as an immensely relieved Tonks could tell – pretty much as good as new. There was a short silence.

"Well thank you, Mr Smethwyck," said Angelica, in a very soft, very deadly voice. "Most considerate of you to mend my vase. Can you do the same thing to a broken heart?"

He shook his head.

"Then I guess we don't have anything more to say to each other." She suddenly seemed on the verge of tears. "Just go. I'm sure you've got things to do."

-----

The front door slammed behind them as they left. Tonks glanced at Cassius to see how he was taking it, and received another unpleasant shock as he strode away looking as if he was about to explode. He moved with surprising speed for a man of his age as he stormed in the general direction of the local Floo station; Tonks almost had to run to keep up with his longer stride.

"Cassius …" she said tentatively as they passed into the main street and she finally caught up. He ignored her. "_Cassius!_" There was no reply as he marched on. "CASSIUS!" She caught his sleeve and pulled him to a halt. "_Talk_ to me, mate!"

"What do you want me to say, Tonks?" he snapped. "Do you want me to tell you I don't care this has happened?"

"No, but …"

"Oh I see. Do you want to tell me I should be _professional_, not let it affect me, you can't let yourself get _emotionally involved_ on the job?" He was actually beginning to rage at her, a development that left her truly startled. "I learnt that lesson a long time ago! I was doing this job for decades before you were even _born_, young woman!"

Tonks bit her tongue. She had in fact meant to say something very much along those lines, but confronted with this unexpectedly furious Cassius, thought better of it. "You don't normally storm off like this …" she began.

"I don't normally have _reason!_ You think I _like_ tormenting a woman who is not just a friend but a _Muggle_ and has _already_ stopped trusting wizards?" Tonks was becoming nervous; they were attracting strange looks from passers-by, and she didn't want to have to resort to mass Memory Charms, let alone write the inevitable reports and suffer the consequent chewing out from Scrimgeour. "She's right, you know! I can't just wave my wand and make it all go away for her!"

"Cassius …" she muttered, jerking her head at their audience in an attempt to warn him off.

"What do I do, cast an extra-strength Cheering Charm on her? It's not going to make any difference to her family situation, is it?"

"Cassius!" she hissed. "We're being _watched_, you pillock!"

"And _you_ don't help matters by constantly tripping over your own two feet! We still have to bring in Clark now and … what?" The last word was, mercifully, spoken more quietly, as he realised what was going on around him. Several people were staring, and some were pointing and giggling.

Tonks made a desperate survey of her surroundings, and to her relief spotted a pub about fifty yards down the road. She seized Cassius' arm and began to move him in that direction. "Come on mate, let's have a drink and _calm down_ eh? I've never _seen_ you like this before." She practically dragged him through the door, found an empty table near the bar and sat him down. His silence throughout wasn't encouraging, but at least he didn't resist.

She grimaced and crossed to the bar, where the barmaid was watching them open-mouthed. "Two pints of lager," she snapped, then added, "Granddad's a bit of a handful sometimes," in a less aggressive tone, albeit one that didn't encourage questions. The barmaid shrugged and began to pull the pints. Tonks checked Cassius out of the corner of her eye; he was just sitting there, taking deep breaths. His expression was stony, but at least he seemed to have calmed down a little.

She fumbled in her pockets and thanked her stars when she found a Muggle ten-pound note to pay for the drinks. She plonked one of them on the table in front of her partner and sat down opposite, looking at him helplessly. "So," she said eventually, when the silence had become awkward. "You want to talk about this, Cassius?"

He took a long drink from his pint and breathed heavily a few times. "Not especially, as it happens, Tonks."

She sighed. "Well okay, not _right_ now, maybe, but we're going to have to discuss this at some point, yeah?"

He didn't reply, but merely finished the drink and half-rose to go to the bar. She jumped up quickly to forestall him. "No, let me."

Unfortunately, while the barmaid was pulling the pint, her situation acquired another complication; a couple of likely lads approached her. "You all right, love?" said the cockier-looking of the two, with a nod at Cassius.

"Oh yes, erm …" she said, still feeling slightly flustered.

The other man grinned at her. "We heard him mouthing off outside. Are you sure he's safe?"

"I think I can handle him," she said coolly. "He's … my granddad." The last thing she wanted at the moment was to get into a conversation with the locals, but then she didn't want to draw attention to herself by telling them to sod off, either. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror behind the bar and sighed; her hair was currently long and in her favourite pink, which didn't offer much hope of remaining anonymous.

"Yeah, they can go a bit doo-lally at their age, can't they?" said the first man as Tonks paid for the drink, taking great care not to let them see her wand hidden up her sleeve, or indeed the many other suspicious things in her pockets. They followed her over to the table with studied casualness. "What was that magic stuff he was on about? Does he think he's some kind of wizard or something?"

Tonks spluttered and nearly dropped the pint. She looked at the young man suspiciously, but he didn't seem to know how close to home his question was, and the blond streaks in his hair certainly looked as if they had been achieved with dye, not magic. "Well, he's done a bit of, er, conjuring in his time …" She handed the glass to Cassius and flashed him a warning look.

"Hiya, Mr … er, your girl here didn't tell us your name."

Tonks groaned inwardly as she recognised the symptoms of two lads on the pull. It really wasn't a good time. "Tonks," she said, at the same time as Cassius said "Smethwyck."

"He's my mum's dad, you see …" she added quickly, trailing off as she noticed them trying to hide grins. "What?"

"Nothing – oh sorry love," said the man with blond streaks, laughing, "it's just that Tonks is a bit of a funny name, isn't it? What's your first name?"

Tonks gritted her teeth and sent another quick glare at Cassius, daring him to comment. "Katie."

"That's better. I'm Vinny, this here's Dave."

"Hi Vinny. Hi Dave." She decided to play for time; with any luck, the distraction might help calm Cassius down. He nodded at them briefly.

"So mate," said Vinny, who seemed to be the designated conversationalist of the two. "Katie here tells us you fancy yourself as a bit of a _wizard_ then? You don't want to go shouting about it in the street, mate, sounds right strange!"

It was Cassius' turn to splutter over his pint, and look at Tonks in mute query. "Well …"

She grinned slightly at the perfect opportunity of revenge for what Cassius had once said on a Brighton bus. "Granddad here likes to pretend he's a real wizard, it's … sort of a little game we play."

He looked furious for a moment, but then hitched a smile onto his face. "Yes, ah, sometimes I get a little carried away. I don't really think I can do magic."

Vinny and Dave exchanged looks which clearly said they thought he was lying. Fortunately, they had no way of knowing he was lying because he really _could_ do magic, not just because he _thought_ he could. "So Katie, what brings you to our neck of the woods then?" asked Vinny breezily. "You stand out a bit round here."

"We were looking for someone we … met once," she said, caught on the hop for a moment. "We know his mum. He used to live round here."

"Who's that then? We might know him. Lived here all our lives."

Tonks shrugged. _Don't suppose they will, but it can't hurt to ask … _"Bloke called Clark Hallendale."

She jumped as Dave chuckled unexpectedly. "Old _Clarkie?_ There's a blast from the past."

Her head turned so quickly that she nearly cricked her neck. "What?"

"Went to primary school with him," he said, looking flattered that he now had her undivided attention. "Bit of an odd one – well, his whole family were really …"

Vinny turned to his pal. "Did he have an older brother called Monty?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"He was in my year! They sent him off to a posh boarding school up in Scotland when he was eleven. Must have worked, he's some kind of company director up in the Smoke now."

"Yeah? Probably the same one Clark went to. Wouldn't have thought they had that kind of money." He turned to Tonks. "Hey Katie, you've got us going down memory lane here. They weren't at Prince Charlie's old place, were they?"

Tonks had no idea what he was talking about, but fortunately Cassius must have seen the baffled expression on her face and jumped in. "Er, no, I don't think his mother sent him there …"

"Funny bugger, old Clarkie, isn't he?" asked Dave reflectively. "Always a bit dodgy, never saying much."

"I suppose not." said Tonks, and then, as Dave's use of the present tense registered with her, "Hang on, have you seen him _recently_?"

"Not for a year or two –" Tonks felt her face fall "– but come to think of it, Vinny, Pete Webster told me he saw him out by one of those warehouses on the ring road a couple of weeks ago."

"Yeah?" asked Vinny, interested.

"Yeah. Said he was driving by, minding his own business, and suddenly saw Clarkie through the fence. It was like he'd appeared out of thin air or something." Tonks raised her eyebrows. A lack of concern for basic Apparition security fitted perfectly with everything she'd ever heard about Clark Hallendale. "You could go out there and ask at the offices maybe? They might know him."

She exchanged significant glances with Cassius. "Thanks, Dave. I think we might just do that."

-----

Tonks shivered and stared across at the warehouse, which seemed to loom larger as the daylight faded. Once they'd pumped Vinny and Dave for information it hadn't been hard to find, and the traces of magic around it were easily detectable.

"Bit daft of him to keep the same hideout, wasn't it?" she asked.

"I don't think Clark is always the most cunning of thinkers," replied Cassius heavily.

"No, I suppose not."

An uneasy pause followed this exchange, just one of many that day.

A few calls to Auror headquarters revealed that the warehouse wasn't on the Ministry's register of wizard-owned properties, which wasn't really a surprise. What _was_ mildly surprising was that the departmental specialist in locating and examining Muggle records had quickly managed to find out that Clark rented it, and that it had previously been rented by Hank Hallendale many years before. All in all, it looked like a handy hideout and storage location for contraband, wizarding or otherwise. Which was how she and Cassius came to be standing on a patch of exposed and chilly waste ground at the rear of the building, at the top of a ridge backing onto a steepish slope leading down to the main ring road, waiting for reinforcements to arrive.

Even the November weather wasn't as chilly as the atmosphere between her and Cassius since that morning. Every time she'd tried to engage him in conversation not strictly related to the case at hand, he'd brushed her off. It had made for a rather uncomfortable day.

A rocket streaked across the sky and she jumped, remembering after a second or two that Muggles always let off fireworks at this time of year, for reasons her father had tried to explain but which she'd never quite understood. Whatever day the celebrations were actually _supposed_ to be, the kids always seemed to treat it as a suggestion rather than a fixed point.

She shivered again at a particularly icy gust of wind and racked her brains for a decent warming charm that wouldn't risk setting her clothes on fire.

"Tonks …"

She turned to Cassius to find him staring fixedly at his shoes. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry," he said, so quietly she could barely hear.

"Yeah, well … bad time for you, eh?" she told him, caught unawares by the sudden apology, and not knowing quite what to say.

"No, I mean it." His voice was getting slightly stronger. "I had no right to shout at you like that just because of my own hurt feelings …"

"Don't worry about it." She definitely wanted to discuss the subject with him at _some_ point, but not right in the middle of an operation. And he'd always been tolerant of her _own_ outbursts, after all … She held up a hand to forestall any protest. "No, _I_ mean it. Everyone's entitled to blow their top occasionally." When he looked uncertain, she added, "Just don't cut me off, Cassius, all right? When you want to talk about it, I'm listening."

"And if I don't particularly want to talk about it?" He said it with a wry grin, which was promising.

"You will. If you can't tell your own partner, who can you tell, eh?" That sounded so cheerily forced it made her wince, and she hastily added, "Anyway, let's call it bygones for now, shall we? Who are we waiting for?"

Cassius seized the opportunity to move onto another topic. "I got Rhiannon when I contacted Headquarters – she's going to bring anyone she can rope in at short notice. I want to have as many wands as possible to reduce the chances of something going wrong." He gave her a pointed look, as if defying her to mention Jugson, but she had no intention of doing so.

"If he _is_ in there, do you think he'll have noticed us sneaking round blocking off his exits?" she asked after a moment or two.

"I hope not. We want to achieve surprise."

"No Floo connection in the place?"

"Not according to Mary Edgecombe …"

They were interrupted by a popping sound as two colleagues appeared next to them. Tonks did a quick double-take; Rhiannon Davies was accompanied by Bentley Williamson, not the expected O'Gregan or Cornworthy.

"Rhiannon? Is this everyone?" asked Cassius, sounding rather alarmed. "Why aren't Donnacha and Arnold with you?"

She grimaced. "Scrimgeour called them into his office for a full discussion of the Carrack case. Apparently he saw the reports, and wasn't entirely satisfied it had no connection with the World Cup fracas that he still hasn't caught anybody for. Didn't think their report was _thorough_ enough."

Cassius groaned. "That sounds like Rufus, I'm afraid. _Damn!_ I wanted as much cover here as possible."

"Well, don't mind me, I'm just along for the ride," said Williamson, gazing into space in a pointed manner. "Out of the goodness of my heart I agree to help out a fellow Auror when I could be sitting in the pub …"

"Ah." Even in the fading light Tonks could see Cassius blush slightly. "My apologies, Bentley. Well … I suppose four of us should be plenty to stop him getting away from the building."

"How many exits are there?" asked Rhiannon.

"Several, including a set of large sliding doors at the front, but we've sealed them all off except for the one we'll be using." He pointed to a double door in the back wall of the warehouse. "It's a good thing that ridge keeps us out of sight of the main road."

"Magical means of exit?"

"I placed Anti-Disapparation Jinxes on the building," put in Tonks.

"And I reinforced the windows as well. So if he has a broom in there, he won't be able to smash a window and fly out, at least not before we can get to him."

"Fair enough," agreed Williamson. "What do you want us to do?"

"I'll go in with Tonks. One of you can come with us, but I need the other to remain out here to cut off the escape route if he sneaks past us."

"I can do that," said Rhiannon. "Hex on sight?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Hard or soft entry?" asked Williamson. When Tonks looked at him in puzzlement, he amplified, "Blast down the door or sneak in?"

Cassius hesitated. "Soft, I think," he said eventually. "We've checked the building – it has a few basic security charms on it, which we've neutralised, but nothing major that might draw attention. It seems to be completely dark inside, so if he _is_ there, I think we can get in, put the lights on and have a few seconds surprise."

"The _lights?_ Do we know the layout of the place?"

"We had a look inside a couple of the other warehouses, Ben," explained Tonks. "They all seem to be built the same way. We picked this door because there should be a light switch on its left hand side. Inside it's basically one big open space except for a couple of offices in the corners at either end, on this side of the building."

"Open space. Right. Unless it's full of stuff, of course, in which case it could be a maze. Is this bloke any good in a fight?"

Cassius shrugged. "Tonks here put him out of action with one spell, and the only way he could think of to commit his murder was to use a Reductor Curse at point-blank range. So no, not really. On the other hand, he'll know the layout and where he can hide, so both of you _be careful_."

"I always am, Cassius, You know me. And needlessly violent of course. Don't forget that." He grinned.

"Yes … You have your knife, Tonks?" At her nod, he continued, "Very well. Silencing spell on the door, then unlock it. Bentley, you slip in and put the lights on, it'll be brighter than a spell. Jinx anyone you see. Rhiannon, if you hear any trouble inside, get ready to hex him if he tries to escape." His voice was brisk and businesslike, but even so, Tonks could detect the note of regret. "All right. Everyone knows what they have to do? Good. Over to you then, Tonks."

Tonks ran the unlocking gadget around the doorframe, and the lock clicked open without trouble. She nodded at Cassius, then waved her wand once to open the door. Bentley Williamson was already moving with impressive smoothness; he slipped in and hit the light switch; the other two following quickly with wands drawn.

Unfortunately, there was no-one in sight. Tonks' heart sank when she saw the many boxes, clothing racks, containers and other assorted junk piled high inside, all of which provided an ample number of hiding places. The Aurors exchanged quick glances and spread out through the building, moving cautiously. Tonks went right, in which direction a series of large pallets had been stacked in such a way as to form a sort of improvised passageway around the edge of the building. By taking advantage of this and staying close to the wall, she soon reached one of the offices, and peered cautiously through the window. All she could see were boxes of fireworks strewn over the floor – _nicked ones, I wouldn't be surprised_ – with no sign of Clark Hallendale. She swore under her breath and continued at a slow pace along the wall.

She'd almost reached the far corner of the warehouse when there was a sudden loud _bang_. A curse flew from somewhere in the middle of the room and blasted the main strip lights, plunging the room back into darkness.

"_Lumos!_" cried Williamson. "Argh … _Nox!_" He ducked and swore loudly as the bright light brought a curse flying his way. Tonks could hear someone running and hesitantly pointed her wand in what seemed to be the general direction, but in the big echoey room it was hard to tell exactly where the sound _was_ coming from.

Cassius' voice rang out impatiently. "_Omnilumens!_"

The magical light that illuminated the room was dim compared to the fluorescent lights, but did at least provide enough visibility to see what was happening, and show her where she could put her feet without falling over anything. She could just spot Clark Hallendale through a small gap in the containers, caught in the middle of running for the main doors on the front of the building. He froze for a moment, then dived for cover behind some junk.

As Cassius and Williamson began to move in his direction, he fired off a wild spell. It never stood much chance of hitting them, but as luck would have it the spell ricocheted off a container and hit a teetering pile of miscellaneous bric-a-brac, which wobbled for a moment or two and then came crashing down on top of the Aurors. Tonks heart leapt to her mouth, but after a moment she heard muffled cursing from Cassius and not-so-muffled cursing from Williamson. It sounded as if they'd become en tangled in rolls of material, and it dawned on her that for the next minute or two she was the only one in a position to do something about Clark

She raced to head him off, finally catching sight of him attempting to blast the main doors open with a Reductor Curse. Luckily, the reinforcement they'd put on the building held, and although the doors buckled very slightly they stayed in one piece. She fired a Stunner as she stumbled round the corner off-balance, but missed. His return spell was easily blocked, but unfortunately as it bounced off her shield it sent _more_ junk crashing to the ground, and he used the diversion to scoot off into a gap, heading back in the direction of the door the Aurors had entered by.

Gritting her teeth, she gave chase, coming out into relatively open space just in time to see him dodge a spell cast by Williamson from the other side of the warehouse, hurdle a low box, and disappear behind the very set of containers in front of the office that she'd just used for concealment.

Both she and Williamson had started to turn the air blue when Cassius appeared behind them, out of Clark Hallendale's line of sight. He placed a finger on his lips before they could start talking.

"_What do we do? Try to Vanish the stuff he's hiding behind?_" she mouthed at him.

He shook his head. "_Too big. Too much of it_," he mouthed back, then pointed first at himself and then at the _ad hoc_ passageway that Tonks had followed to get there. They nodded to show that they understood he would try to outflank Clark, and he gave a quick thumbs-up and slipped out of sight, moving excruciatingly slowly to keep silent.

Tonks exchanged uneasy glances with Williamson. "Oi, you behind the boxes!" the ponytailed Auror yelled suddenly. "Are you going to stop buggering around and come out of there nice and quiet?" Tonks felt her jaw drop, then realised that the more they could keep him talking, the less attention he'd be able to spare for what Cassius was doing. Williamson's sally didn't result in anything but a short reply telling him exactly what he could do.

"Game's up, Clark!" cried Tonks, joining in. This produced a strangled sound from behind the containers, and she continued gleefully, "Yeah, I know who you are now! This time _we've_ got four against one!"

Clark Hallendale swore again, then added in a bitter voice, "I should have let _Sylvester_ pick you up like he wanted to."

"Pity you killed him then, wasn't it?" taunted Williamson.

"Think you're so bleeding clever, don't you, Auror?" he snarled. "I know all about _you_. You're that poncy long-haired git who was trying to crowd Finlay. There's a laugh. And I know all about _her_, too. She's the slag who works with that old fart Smethwyck."

"Yeah, that's me!" she yelled, stung. "The slag that's going to bring you in! You really shouldn't have shown your face in the Ministry Saturday night, Clark, I'd never have realised who you were otherwise!"

It took a second or two for him to find a reply to this piece of information. "Well you'll have to kill me to get me out of here!" If he was trying to sound tough he didn't quite achieve it, she could hear a quaver in his voice. "And if you try, I'll …"

"What, use a Reductor Curse on us?" She could just hear Cassius making his way round the wall, and the closer he got, the harder it would be to sneak up on Clark Hallendale. She shouted even louder to cover up the noise. "Yeah, that'd work, Clark! If we head-butted your wand first, maybe. Just to let you get the range!"

Williamson got the idea quickly. "Hang on. Is this the loser you told me about who couldn't even think of a decent lethal curse? What a bloody _wimp!_"

"That's not the only curse I know …" he spat. They could hear him moving, and Tonks suddenly realised he was using the same tactic they were, in an attempt to sneak away. He was evidently close to the end of the bank of containers now, and might be able to run for it.

"Yeah it is, laddie," replied Williamson, taking aim. "If you knew anything decent you'd have used it by now. Nah, you use a Killing Curse like –" as Clark poked his head out – "this! _Avada Ked …_" There was a choked sound and the head was hastily pulled back behind the containers.

"_Williamson, you stupid git!_" hissed Tonks, shocked. "What the frigging hell was _that?_"

"Just trying to put the wind up him a bit," he muttered defensively. "Wasn't going to say the _whole_ curse, was I? Remember how old Robards always used to pat himself on the back for that bit of bluff in training?" Tonks wasn't at all sure that _Clark_ had realised that the curse had been stopped half-way through, and it didn't help when Williamson raised his voice to shout, "Not that little Clarkie here could do one of those anyway, could you, eh?"

She huffed at him – _don't scare him too much Ben, a desperate man might try desperate measures_ – but let it go at noises that strongly suggested Clark was moving rapidly back the other way, in Cassius' direction. They were already exchanging semi-satisfied glances when, to their surprise, they could hear the sound of a door opening.

It took Tonks a couple of seconds to realise that it must be the door of the little office she'd previously checked, a couple more seconds to remember what was _in_ that office, and the further couple of seconds it took her to react was just too long.

As she opened her mouth and shouted a warning there was a sinister _wheeeeee_ sound that drowned it out – then all hell broke loose as a volley of charmed fireworks shot out all around them.

She had about half a second to react this time and for a miracle hit on the right answer, the one she'd used in their first fight, making the same long sweeping motion with her wand that Transfigured a clothes rack into a wall around herself and Williamson, which bore the brunt of the explosions that happened a second later. As it collapsed around them, they shook their heads to clear the ringing in their ears and turned towards the door, only to find they had a new problem: the fireworks had started at least half a dozen fires burning.

"Shit!" cried Williamson, who was unfortunate enough to be nearest. "_Aguamenti!_"

Tonks let him get on with it as she stumbled, coughing, towards the back door. Her heart sank as she saw that Clark Hallendale had already blasted it open and was running towards it full-tilt, and then to her enormous relief she saw Rhiannon Davies appear in the doorway.

Clark skidded to a halt, raised his wand and yelled "_Stupefy!_"

Rhiannon casually blocked the curse, looking at Clark with a mocking grin on her face. Tonks continued to pick her way towards them through the parts of the warehouse that weren't on fire.

"_Impedimenta! Reducto!_" Her sudden appearance just when he thought he was about to get away had obviously induced panic. "_Petrificus Totalus!_"

Rhiannon, still grinning, blocked the spells easily with wordless Shield Charms.

Tonks finally found a position from where she had a clear shot, got her balance and took aim. It wasn't until she looked back at the events that followed that it became clear they had only spanned a few seconds. But at the time, they appeared to take place in slow motion.

Rhiannon raised her wand, preparatory to firing a hex of her own.

Clark Hallendale lost it completely and waved his wand in her general direction, yelling "_Avada Kedavra!_"

An aghast Rhiannon threw herself backwards as a bright green flash erupted from the wand.

Tonks realised that there wasn't enough room for her to get out of the way a split-second before the curse struck her colleague in the face .

Rhiannon was blasted back against the doorframe and crumpled to the floor, where she lay unmoving.

-----

Tonks froze. So did Clark Hallendale.

He turned towards her with mute appeal on his face. She could read his thoughts perfectly without needing any skill in Legilimency: "_I didn't think that would happen, oh Mother, NOW what have I done?"_

The tableau could not have lasted more than a split-second before he whirled and ran for the door, and Tonks realised she had only one chance to stop him before he got outside and Disapparated. Later, her unoriginal but accurate reflection would be that it was bloody strange what flashed through your mind at a time like that.

The thing that _did_ was her apology to Cassius many months before: _I _hope_ I'm not the sort of person who'd kill for revenge. Not even if ... I don't know, a friend was killed in front of me._ She'd been talking about her willingness to kill her escaped cousin on sight. A man she _now_ believed innocent. Unlike Clark Hallendale …

She shook off the memory, raised her wand and aimed at the fleeing Clark. The only thing that made sense to her at that precise moment was to _stop him getting away_.

"_Remansio!_"

She saw him stumble as he crossed the threshold and exited the building, and felt a brief flash of satisfaction at her sudden intuition; _wide-angle spell, make _sure_ I get him_ …As she followed him out she saw him twist on the spot, and some strangely detached part of her mind noted with satisfaction that the way he froze when the attempt failed looked exactly the same as the Gringotts thief. So did the way he whirled round on her in horror.

He fired off a curse and she hastily ducked out of the way, but the streak of light this time was red not green, and failed to make much of an impression on the reinforced window behind her. He turned again and ran.

Trying to control her jumpy nerves, she gave chase, although a couple of curses fired on the run just missed. He was using his head start to make for the little ridge that led to the main road, and as they ran a sudden horrible realisation hit her; if he made it as far as the road itself, he might be able to hijack a car. And as they were both now in sight of that road, if she tried anything spectacular she would probably land in the middle of a serious Statute of Secrecy breach – it would be seen by half-a-dozen motorists, who would be out of reach down the road before she had any chance to Memory Charm them …

_Maybe your safety-first option _wasn't_ such a smart idea, idiot!_ Half-panicking herself now, and needing to use something that looked natural, she aimed very carefully and threw a Trip Jinx at him. She almost cheered when his feet jerked up and he went stumbling over the ridge, but then as she followed she realised with horror that it had worked _too_ well. Clark lurched headlong down the hill and out onto the main road, just as a speeding lorry emerged from the curve of the roundabout.

The driver braked hard, but he hadn't a hope of stopping in time. The side of the cab slammed into Clark Hallendale and sent him flying.

-----

Tonks stood frozen for a moment as she struggled to take in this latest cock-up. Then she hastily tucked away her wand and made her way down to the roadside as quickly as she could, ending up more or less sliding on her bum for most of the way.

Clark Hallendale had been thrown back on to the grass verge and was lying very still. She checked for a pulse, and wasn't quite sure to be relieved or not when she found one, albeit weak. She'd known vaguely from watching Quidditch that wizards had more resilience against heavy impacts, but it had never really sunk in at a gut level before. She heard a noise behind her, and looked up to see the white-faced lorry driver coming over to them.

"Is he all right? He came out of nowhere – I couldn't even hit the brakes in time!"

Tonks nodded somewhat shakily. "Not your fault, mate. I saw it all, don't worry." She made a brief critical examination of Clark Hallendale. "I think a Healer can patch him up, if I can get him there in time …"

"A _Healer?_" said the driver, staring at her goggle eyed. "Bloody crystals and stuff? No way! He needs an _ambulance!_" Tonks closed her eyes for a moment and tried not to scream as he fished a mobile phone from his pocket and began pressing buttons. Luckily for her state of mind, they were interrupted by a sudden noise, and both turned to see Williamson scrambling down the hill

"I saw what happened, I'm a doctor," he said to the driver, who sagged in relief. "Let me look at him." Tonks swore under her breath. _Doctor! Should have remembered that._ With a scowl on his face he gave his 'patient' a brief and none too gentle once-over, then stood up, searched the bank for a moment or two and found an empty bottle that had presumably been tossed out of a car window. He handed it to Tonks and gave her a surreptitious wink. "We can all cling to this. You know what to do, you've seen it done, right?"

He turned to the bewildered driver and pulled out his wand. "Sorry about this, mate. _Obliviate!_"

The driver's eyes slid out of focus, and Tonks seized the opportunity to tap the bottle with her wand, focus hard on St Mungo's, and mutter "_Portus_".

The blue light had only just faded by the time the driver was shaking his head as if to clear it. "What happened?" he said, staring at Clark Hallendale in amazement.

"He was hit by … a car. Driver didn't stop," said Tonks quickly.

"Decent of you to help out by phoning for an ambulance, mate," added Williamson, "but you'd better get going before the Mugg … the police get here. You've obviously had a bit of a shock, they might stop you driving."

His eyes widened. "Bugger! Fair point. See you!" He ran off back to his lorry, and as he did Tonks moved to hide Williamson from view. As the lorry pulled away he cast a few emergency first aid charms over their captive, and a Muggle-Repelling Charm around them to discourage observation by passing motorists.

"That'll hold him till we get him to St Mungo's." He looked up and met Tonks' eye, and his expression was ugly. "Not sure why we're bothering though …"

"Rhiannon?" asked Tonks. Tears began to form in her eyes when he didn't reply; shock was beginning to set in. "Oh God, Ben, who's going to tell Don?"

"Haven't a clue," he said, his face set and bleak. "I came straight after you and _this_ little scumbag, and left old Cassius to put out the fires and deal with her. At least he'll be a bit more sensitive than I could manage. Poor bastard. Poor _Rhiannon_. He wasn't supposed to know how to _do_ that."

"_Why_ did you have to do that stupid pretend Killing Curse?" she raged, the tears spilling down her cheeks now. "You complete _prick_, Ben, _you_ gave him the idea!"

"I _know_." Williamson was obviously trying very hard not to shed tears of his own; virtually all his usual cockiness had deserted him. "Look … I suppose we have to bring chummy in. Let's go. We're in deep shit whatever we do, let's not make it any worse."

"Yeah. Right." She blinked the moisture away from her eyes and wiped her face, trying not to snap at him. She wrapped one of Clark Hallendale's limp hands round the neck of the bottle, took the other end in her hand, and nodded to Williamson. "Are you ready? It activates when we all touch it."

Without a word he placed a finger on the bottle and the side of the dual carriageway was suddenly empty again.


	27. An Auror's Lot Is Not A Happy One

**26. An Auror's Lot Is Not A Happy One**

_Monday 2__nd__ November 1994_

The couple of hours that followed their sudden arrival in St Mungo's were complete chaos.

She left Williamson to explain to the hospital staff what had happened, while she found a quiet spot in the hallway to notify the Department of recent events. Frustratingly, the only person she could reach on her mirror phone was a harassed duty Auror, who ran through a list of routine questions in between other calls on his time, scratched out rough notes, and promised to tell O'Gregan just as soon as Rufus Scrimgeour had finished with him. When she broke the connection she was left with an uneasy feeling that he hadn't quite grasped the situation.

She returned to find Williamson arguing with a sharp-nosed middle-aged Healer, who appeared to have taken offence at something he'd said. "And how am I supposed to treat my patient with _you_ hovering over me and getting in the way?" she was asking in a clipped voice. "I have a job to do!"

"So do we! Listen, Lethbridge, I am _not_ letting that little bastard out of my sight! He's a murder … _suspect_." He bit out the word 'suspect' as if it hurt him to use it.

Tonks groaned and hastened over to try to calm them both down. "Look, Healer, I'm sure you don't _want_ a guard, but this is a dangerous man," she said as placatingly as she could. "He just –" she swallowed, as the memory made her gorge rise "– used the Killing Curse on our colleague in an attempt to escape. I'm sorry, but we _have_ to guard him."

The Healer pursed her lips, but nodded in understanding. "I see. Well, you needn't worry about your prisoner escaping. We've mended the worst of the damage, but he'll be out of it for a while yet, and even then we'll need to keep him sedated. For the time being, you'll have to wait out here and watch while we work, I'm afraid."

"Fair enough," said Tonks before Williamson could say anything. She glared at him and chivvied him out of Clark Hallendale's room. They sat and stared at each other while Healer Lethbridge busied herself with casting whatever spells Healers cast on these occasions.

"_Déjà vu_, eh?" he said nervously after a while.

"_What?_"

"You know, sitting here waiting for news, like with you after that potion incident …"

"Except I was perfectly fine afterwards," she snapped.

"Right." He fell silent again.

Lethbridge came out of the room, pinned some notes to the door, locked it behind her with her wand and walked off. Tonks got up and glanced at the notes, but they seemed to be full of technical terms she didn't understand – although the handwriting was so bad it was hard to be sure.

"Tonks, you know …" said Williamson as she sat down again.

"Don't, Ben."

"No." He paused for a moment, then added in a tortured voice, "She was the one who asked me to come, you know …"

"Ben!" Tonks felt more or less at the end of her tether by now.

"Sorry." There was a much longer pause, then, in a carefully businesslike voice that didn't sound very convincing, he asked, "Did you let the office know?"

She took a deep breath to stop herself from yelling at him. "Yes. They said they'll tell Don to get here as soon as he gets out of the meeting."

"Right," he said after a moment or two. She waited with gritted teeth for him to say something else, but he appeared to have caught on, and left her to her own rather miserable thoughts. Five minutes later, however, she would have been happy to have to endure only Williamson's babble, as those thoughts were interrupted by Donnacha O'Gregan turning up with Cornworthy in tow. They saw Tonks first and made a bee-line for her.

"Nymphadora … what's going on?" asked O'Gregan urgently. "Has something happened to my Rhi?" She gaped. _Oh no, no, NO. Don't tell me that prat in the office left it to me to break it to him …_ "They said there'd been an accident!"

She opened her mouth and closed it again, at a loss for words. "Er, well, not an _accident_ as such, erm …"

Williamson turned away and hung his head. Cornworthy seemed to pick up on what was happening more quickly than his partner; his mouth fell open, then he moved forward and put his hand on O'Gregan's shoulder.

The Irishman still hadn't realised. "Tonks, WHAT HAPPENED?"

"He –" _I really didn't want to be the one saying this!_ "– our, uh, suspect … Clark Hallendale, used a … a …"

O'Gregan paled. "Some serious curse?"

Williamson uttered a short, mirthless laugh.

"It was a Killing Curse, Don," she said helplessly.

O'Gregan looked at her for a moment as if he hadn't quite understood the words, then swayed on his feet and went chalk white.

"Are you sure, Tonks?" asked Cornworthy in desperation. She nodded miserably.

O'Gregan collapsed onto the floor at the foot of the wall as if his legs were no longer capable of supporting his weight. After a moment or two staring blankly into space he began to weep openly.

Cornworthy crouched down and put a hand back on his shoulder, but O'Gregan didn't even notice. The older Auror looked up. "Have they brought her in yet?" he asked quietly, with a worried glance at his friend.

"Don't think so," replied Tonks, a tear or two trickling down her own cheeks now. She turned at a cough behind her to see the Healer, Lethbridge. "Oh, hello. Did you want to get into the room?"

Lethbridge shook her head, contemplating O'Gregan as if assessing how best to react to him. "In a moment, but I thought you might want an update on how your suspect is doing first. And this gentleman would be …"

"His victim's fiancé," said Cornworthy roughly.

"Ah. I see. Well …"

O'Gregan lifted his head; he'd clearly only that moment realised who they were talking about. "Wait a minute now, who's that in there?"

"Clark Hallendale," replied Lethbridge, watching him warily. O'Gregan stood up with a murderous look on his face, and took out his wand.

"NO, Don!" cried Cornworthy, seizing his arm. O'Gregan shook him off, and Cornworthy made another desperate grab, wrestling with him as he tried to raise his wand to the door. The Healer stepped back and looked around in alarm, seemingly unsure if she was allowed to call security guards to tackle troublemakers if they were Aurors.

Williamson had his wand out by now. "Don't make us stop you, Don," he said, although his expression suggested that he'd rather help his colleague take revenge than prevent him doing so.

"Don, _please_ …" said Tonks as softly as she could, although she too slipped her wand out just in case. He struggled for a few more moments and then sagged against Cornworthy, who gently led him over to a chair and set him down.

"What's going _on_ here?"

Tonks jumped at the shocked voice from the door, and turned to see Cassius standing there. After a last check on O'Gregan, she crossed the room and whispered, "We've just told him about Rhiannon. He – he didn't take it that well, as you might guess." She bit down on an urge to scream.

Cassius nodded, looking haggard. "Ah, I see. Well, they _may_ be able to repair the damage to her eye, but it'll be touch and go."

"To her _eye?_"

"Well, that was where the curse hit her …" he said, clearly puzzled. He trailed off at the expression on Tonks' face, then uttered a very loud, very un-Cassius-like swear word. "Wait a minute, has _nobody_ in this damned hospital thought to give you an _update on her condition?_"

"Cassius, what are you talking about?" asked Cornworthy shortly.

"Didn't they tell you what happened to her?"

"I bloody _saw_ it, Cassius!" said Tonks in a brittle voice. "Your precious Angie's son used _Avada Kedavra_, what do you _expect_ happened?"

Cassius looked absolutely dumbfounded. "He used _what?_" he asked weakly.

"The Killing Curse, Cassius!" she yelled. This prompted renewed choking sounds from O'Gregan, and she added more quietly, "What did you expect … Wait a minute, what are you _grinning_ for?"

O'Gregan looked up, furious, as Cassius' grin became wider. "Donnacha, I've got some good news and some bad news for you –" O'Gregan stared in incomprehension "– well in short, Donnacha, the good news is she's _alive_ …"

Anything else he might have been intending to say was interrupted as O'Gregan leapt up. He joyfully cried "Thank God!" and crossed himself, then broke down in tears once again. Williamson sagged against the wall, and Tonks felt like doing the same thing as relieved incomprehension suddenly drained her of strength. Healer Lethbridge gave them all a half-smile, then went into Clark Hallendale's room as if nothing untoward had happened.

"_How?_" demanded Cornworthy.

"Wait a minute," said Tonks slowly, remembering Featherstone's lecture on Killing Curses. "Clark's always been a bit crap as a wizard … and I don't think _he_ expected it to actually work … are you saying it didn't have enough power behind it or something?"

"Yes, exactly." His grin faded. "Anyway, that's the good news."

"What's the _bad_ news?" she asked, her heart in her mouth again.

Cassius watched O'Gregan with trepidation. "Donnacha … the curse didn't take proper effect, but it still hit her in the eye at almost point-blank range. There's a great deal of damage. They're not sure if they can save her sight … _ugh!_"

O'Gregan startled everyone by suddenly kissing him. The others battled highly inappropriate grins. "Cassius, my lad, _I do not care!_ They told me I had lost my love, and now _you_ tell me she's still with me? Where is she?"

"In the Spell Damage ward, they're working on her, trying to put her eye back together … She's quite badly injured, Donnacha, they won't let you see her yet …" The last words were shouted to his back as he raced out.

"I'd better go and wait with him," said Cornworthy thoughtfully, watching him go. "That was a _hell_ of a shock you just gave him, and I don't think that bit about the eye has fully sunk in yet."

"Thank you, Arnold." Cornworthy nodded and followed his partner out of the room.

Williamson approached, looking extremely uncomfortable. "Cassius … listen, I'm really sorry mate. I shouldn't have arsed around like that at the warehouse."

"No, you shouldn't!" He relented slightly. "But I suppose you couldn't know what Clark Hallendale would do with your demonstration."

"Well, little Clark deserves everything he got and … _Hallendale?_" His eyes widened and Tonks felt sure the surname hadn't registered with him before. "He's called _Hallendale?_ Is that …I mean, is he related to your …"

"Yes," he said bitterly. "He's her son."

Williamson's mouth fell open. "Bugger."

"You don't say!"

"Right, I'd better … er, go and write up my report then," he said, embarrassed. "And let Scrimgeour know what happened. Bet he'll still be in the office. Yeah. Er, see you both then." He hastened away, his ponytail swinging behind him.

Cassius sank into the chair recently vacated by O'Gregan and buried his head in his hands. His voice was muffled when he eventually spoke. "You know something, Tonks? A few days ago I thought everything was going swimmingly. We'd just caught a serious criminal, I had a charming companion, I thought I could still be a perfectly good Auror. How did it come to _this?_"

"Dunno, mate." She sat down next to him, at a loss for words again, and wishing she could go somewhere private to let off steam. Eventually, she gave a tentative nod at the ward where Clark was being treated. "Do you want me to let his mum know?"

He seemed to sag further. "Oh God, I'd forgotten no-one had told her. You'd better not. I don't think you're very popular with her at the moment. Then again," he added bitterly, "neither am I. She'd probably throw either of us out."

"I suppose we could send an owl …"

"It's a bit impersonal, isn't it? Normally we try to send a Patroller, at least."

"Tell you what," she said, in sudden inspiration, "I'll go and find his brother and _he_ can tell your Angie."

"She's not 'my Angie' any more," he said quietly. "And never was, in truth. But that's a good idea, Tonks. Go on then."

She got up, then hesitated at the door. "Are you sure you'll be OK?" Much as she wanted to escape from the tension of the hospital before she lost it completely and said or did something foolish, she didn't want to leave Cassius by himself if he needed her company.

He gave her a half smile that suggested he understood exactly why she wanted to go. "Under some interpretations of the term 'OK', yes. I'm certainly capable of waiting here for developments without falling to pieces, Tonks. Off you go."

-----

_Wednesday 4__th__ November 1994_

The next few days were thoroughly uncomfortable for all concerned.

Montgomery Hallendale was predictably unimpressed when Tonks finally tracked him down to his home. "Well, that sounds like typical Auror brutality," he snapped as soon as Tonks had finished giving him a highly edited description of recent events. "First my father, now my brother, am I going to have any family _left_ by the time you've finished with us?"

"Don't push your luck, Monty," she snapped back. "Just consider yourself fortunate that we didn't bring _you_ in for obstructing an Auror in the course of their duty after you helped your precious _brother_ get away."

She Disapparated home before he could find a good retort, and then spent the next ten minutes screaming at her mirror, which did as much as a mirror possibly could to offer sympathy.

The team fully expected to get chewed out by Scrimgeour, and he certainly didn't disappoint them on that score. All three of the uninjured Aurors who had been at the warehouse were called in to his office the following morning, and cowered at his demands to know exactly _why_ they had failed to make a clean arrest, and exactly _how_ they had nearly got a fellow Auror killed. Cassius made a valiant attempt to take responsibility for the debacle as the senior Auror present, but Scrimgeour was in no mood to accept excuses from the others – and when Cassius suggested diffidently that the operation might have been more successful if O'Gregan and Cornworthy had been available, Scrimgeour turned purple and yelled at them so loudly that the pedestrians in the street above had probably heard it over the sounds of pneumatic drills and passing buses.

"What do you think he'll do?" asked Tonks nervously as they came out.

"Not much," said Cassius. He looked groggy, like a man who had just been Enervated after taking a particularly powerful Stunner. "Rufus always yells at you after this sort of thing, but he knows as well as I do that we can't call in _everybody in the office_ every time we want to make a simple arrest. Excuse me a moment, I think I need a cup of tea to steady myself."

"Are you all right, Ben?" asked Tonks shortly as he left. Williamson looked quite subdued, and she couldn't help feeling a touch of sympathy for him.

"Yeah. Thanks. You know what, though?" he added after a moment. "For the old sod, that was positively gentle. Either he's too busy to build up a head of steam, or he's got a grain of sympathy for Don and Rhi. My money's on the first option. Must be losing his touch."

They spent a morning searching through what was left of Clark's warehouse after the fire had ravaged it, with mixed results. There were a number of illegal or otherwise dubious things among the junk, both magical and Muggle, but the one that hit the jackpot was a crate containing two dozen large, smoke-blackened bottles. These proved on analysis to contain Liquor of Jacmel, and Cassius opined that they were quite likely to represent the entire remaining unused stock of the potion in the country

Bulletins from St Mungo's reported little change in the condition of either Clark Hallendale or Rhiannon Davies, with both kept under Sleeping Potions to recover from the physical and mental shock while the Healers tried to determine the extent of any long-term problems. The latter patient had been placed in a room that was magically darkened for her eyes alone, but none of the other Aurors, not even O'Gregan, had been allowed in to see her for more than a few minutes at a time.

Their prisoner had been transferred to a secure room in lieu of a cell in Azkaban, with an officer from the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol keeping watch day and night (the Healers having long refused point-blank to allow Dementors anywhere near their hospital). His broken bones had been mended, and the internal injuries brought under control, but the Healers were worried about the possibility of brain damage.

On the Tuesday, Arnold Cornworthy had been sent to update Angelica Hallendale on Clark's condition (as the case team member with the least personal connection with her, he seemed the safest choice). She received his news with frigid politeness and shooed him out of the house as quickly as possible. So it was a surprise to all of them early on Wednesday morning when she turned up at the visitor's entrance of the Ministry, asking for Cassius.

"She wants to see _me?_" he said when Eric Munch contacted him from the reception desk. "Well … all right, I suppose. I'll come down and collect her."

Tonks looked up in alarm; she wasn't at all sure this was a good idea, and insisted on tagging along to offer Cassius support, regardless of what Angelica might think about her presence. She took the opportunity to observe the older woman as Cassius escorted her into an interview room. There was quite a contrast from the last time Tonks had seen her; their guest seemed worn, with dark circles under her eyes, and now almost looked her age.

Cassius sat down opposite her. "What can we do for you, Mrs Hallendale?" he asked cautiously.

She gave him a pointed look. "Not Angelica now?"

"I … well …"

Angelica Hallendale found a brave little smile. "Forget it, Cassius. We were friends up until a few days ago. I'm sure we can at least try to be … polite to each other."

He nodded, seeming to find being in her presence awkward. "What can we do for you?"

"I want to see my son," she said simply.

Tonks exchanged looks with Cassius. "I'm not sure that we can do …" she began.

"He's in hospital, not prison," interrupted Angelica in a voice that almost succeeded in being firm, but had a slight shake to it. "You haven't even told his legal representative what's going on, but he says there are no charges filed with the Wizengamot yet. You may have him under arrest, Miss Tonks, but there's no reason I can't _see_ him, is there?"

"Er …" Tonks could think of a number of very good reasons, particularly the fact that such visits weren't generally allowed, but on the spur of the moment she couldn't remember if the rule applied to prisoners in hospital.

Cassius answered after a moment or two's thought. "Well … I suppose we might be able to do something." Tonks flashed him a look, but he ignored her. She had a nasty suspicion that he was still feeling guilty over _Hank_ Hallendale, let alone Clark, even if he wasn't talking to her about it. "Ah, Ang … Mrs Hallendale … can I say how truly sorry I am?"

She gave him an even more pointed look "Yes, by letting me _see my child_. That's all I want to do right now."

Cassius glanced at Tonks for confirmation. She shrugged. _This one's your party, mate. You decide who to invite._ He waited for a moment, then reluctantly nodded. "Very well. If you'll call at St Mungo's this afternoon at two o'clock, we can arrange a _short_ visit. Do you know how to get in the front entrance?"

She waved her hand impatiently. "Yes, yes. Talk to the dummy, tell it what you're there for. It won't be the first time I've ever had a child in St Mungo's. Magical children are always getting into some kind of scrape – I should know."

"You do realise that Clark hasn't recovered consciousness after the collision yet?" asked Tonks as she escorted her to the lift.

Angelica regarded her coldly. "Yes, Miss Tonks. I _do_ realise that. Thank you for reminding me!"

-----

She was waiting for them in St Mungo's reception area at the appointed time, snapping at the welcomewitch behind the desk to tell her that she knew _exactly_ what she was there for, Muggle or not. The Aurors hastily retrieved her and went up to the secure ward in awkward silence. Cassius stopped at the door to check with the Patrol wizard on guard. "Has anyone been in?"

The man shook his head. "Only medical staff. A bloke called Harris turned up yesterday and wanted to see him, though. Said he was his legal adviser. We made him wait while we checked him out, but apparently he's well-known, turns up quite often at Veritaserum interrogations and the like."

"We've met him," said Tonks.

"We let him look through the window, but told him he'd have to get your permission before he could go in. We didn't tell him anything else. What do we say if he turns up again?"

"Tell him there's no chance. You made sure he couldn't do anything?"

"Asked him to give us his wand and held on to it for him while he looked. He wasn't happy about it, but even he could see that chummy didn't have much use for him while he was like _that_." He nodded towards the still comatose Clark Hallendale in the room behind him.

"Very well. Good work."

Angelica had moved over to the door to look at her son through the small window. She caught her breath, and Tonks, looking over her shoulder, could understand why – Clark was clearly in a bad way, still very pale, with bruising over much of his body. "Can I go in?"

Cassius nodded. "Yes, Mrs Hallendale. But please leave your bag at the door."

"What? Oh yes." She handed it to him without a second thought, her gaze never once leaving her son. Tonks and Cassius hung back in the doorway, feeling extremely uncomfortable, as she slowly approached his bed and sat down by his side. She began talking to him in a quiet, soothing manner.

"Do you think she knows he can't hear her?" asked Tonks in an undertone, glancing at the medical report on the door. She was getting the hang of interpreting Lethbridge's writing by now. "He's still out cold most of the time, you know, that's not just the Sleeping Potions."

"I imagine that she doesn't really care," replied Cassius, equally _sotto voc_e. "I'm sure I wouldn't if it were one of my children."

Tonks glanced at Angelica and her feeling of discomfort increased. She was smoothing her son's hair back, tracing her finger down his face, adjusting his sheets, all the while talking to him with forced brightness, as if he were still an innocent five-year-old who'd fallen off his first toy broom. Tonks glanced around the room in an attempt not to watch, but it didn't help much. Some sort of medical poster had been fixed to the wall above his bed, and the Healer it portrayed was looking on and shaking his head sadly as if to say that he didn't think the patient had long for this world.

"How much time are you giving her?" she muttered.

"A little while longer. Give her a chance," he replied, his face impassive, as Angelica continued to fuss over Clark.

"Doesn't seem to care what he's done, does she?"

There was a trace of pain on Cassius' face. "_You_ were the one who said you imagined she could forgive him anything, up to and including murder. I don't doubt you were right. People do forgive their children for their crimes. One of these days you may have your own and find that out."

"Cassius!"

He reddened slightly. "Sorry," he mumbled. "That was uncalled for. I shouldn't take it out on you."

"Never mind." It wasn't the right time to argue the point. She nodded at Angelica. "Hadn't we better …"

"I suppose so." He raised his voice. "Mrs Hallendale? We really should go now."

She looked up, distracted, then nodded. Her voice was a little louder as she turned back to her son, and this time Tonks could just about make out the actual words spoken over the tearful tone. "Clark, I don't know if you can hear me right now, but just want you to know that whatever happens, I love you and I did my best for you, I'll _always_ love you and do my best for you. I love you, I …" Her voice trailed off, and with an angry glance at the Aurors she leant in to put a tender hand on his brow and murmur into his ear.

Clark shifted slightly on his pillow, but otherwise gave no indication that he'd heard anything she'd said since she'd been there, and at that point Angelica broke down completely, in deep, agonised, achingly regretful sobbing that seemed to be tearing her heart out. She got up blindly and stumbled towards the door; Cassius tried to take her arm but she shrugged him off in anger – and then suddenly clung to _his_ arm for a moment in desperation.

"Thank you Mr … _Cassius_," she muttered. "Thank you for that … well, just thank you, anyway."

He didn't say anything in reply, merely nodding, with a tight expression on his face.

"I'll be all right now," she told him, with a tremulous smile, and he dropped her hand. "Nice poppy," she added in her falsely bright voice, although Tonks had no idea what she meant. "Good to see a wizard who … well anyway. Goodbye."

She walked away slowly with her back erect and head held high, with Cassius watching in silence as she got into the lift and disappeared. Tonks could see the extreme tension in his bunched shoulders; it was one of the saddest things she'd seen for a long time. Remembering what had worked once before, she moved over and put her arms around him in a tight hug. His shoulders tensed even further for a moment, but then he relaxed a little and seemed to sag.

"_Thank you_," he said thickly, turning and returning the hug. "And thank you for still making an effort to support me, despite the way I've been acting for the past few days. By rights you should have bawled me out like Rufus Scrimgeour by now."

"Hey, no problem," she said, smiling up at him in relief. "I don't give up on people I care about _that_ easily, you know. Friends still?" she added, holding out a hand half-jokingly.

He smiled weakly, then took her hand and shook it. "_Friends._"

-----

_Friday 6__th__ November 1994_

Tonks was quite glad when the rest of the week's work turned out to be simple, uneventful routine. Clark Hallendale regained consciousness on the Thursday evening, very woozy after all the Sleeping Potions. Nevertheless, when the Patrol witch on duty took a statement from him he denied all knowledge of Sylvester Ballantyne and of any criminal activities connected with the Liquor of Jacmel, a development all members of the case team received without surprise as only to be expected.

The good news was that the Healers saw no reason why he couldn't cope with Veritaserum, as the potion didn't have any major _physical_ effects on the person taking it. Cassius immediately made out an application for a warrant and asked Bentley Williamson to file it with the Wizengamot Administration Services.

"Why _him?_" asked O'Gregan, who had been extremely cool towards his ponytailed colleague ever since the events in the warehouse.

"I thought his – ah, _friend_ Marcie who works there might be able to speed things up for us," said Cassius with equanimity. "Always useful, that sort of thing."

"Do you think they'll grant it just like that, though?" asked Tonks, snapping her fingers. "They've been a lot fussier recently, after all. Even Scrimgeour's been complaining about it, from what I hear."

"Oh, I think so." His expression hardened. "Some members of the Wizengamot may be so old and feeble they even make _me_ look like a stripling, but generally they don't approve of people who use Unforgivable Curses any more than we do. Especially when they use them on Aurors. We usually get a certain consideration in those cases." Tonks nodded. Cassius had seemed a lot more like his old self since Wednesday, which pleased her, even if she did strongly suspect that he was putting on a brave face most of the time after the shocks and embarrassments of the previous week.

Cornworthy spent some hours with Gogol's portrait checking on records from the Caribbean. Wells the courier had not returned from his 'working holiday' in the Dominican Republic, and was considered to have done a runner after being tipped off that there was trouble waiting for him back home. According to the records of the Caribbean Magical Federation, he had taken the international Floo to the United States, vanished into the New York magical underworld, and was currently on the 'fugitive from justice' list of the US Magical Investigation Bureau. His shop in Knockturn Alley remained closed and looked likely to remain so for the foreseeable future.

By three o'clock on Friday afternoon, most of the paperwork had been completed, and Tonks and O'Gregan were the only members of their team left in the office. She couldn't help noticing how tired he looked, and tried to keep the conversation flowing to stop him brooding over Rhiannon. Fortunately he was playing along as best he could. "You think the potion will get anything useful out of him, Tonks?"

"Should do. I mean, he's not in any position to fight back, is he? And in a case like this where all sorts of stuff could rest on who he sold Jacmel to, it could be important. Rufus Scrimgeour is backing it as well, so it should be on Cassius' desk within a few days …"

Tonks trailed off as she realised that O'Gregan wasn't paying the slightest attention to what she was saying any more. Instead, he was staring at the doorway with a rapt expression, and when she followed his gaze she was astonished to see Rhiannon standing there. She was pale, and one eye was covered with heavy bandaging underneath which some sort of medicinal orange goo had obviously been applied, but even so she wore a tentative smile.

"They said I could leave St Mungo's if I wanted to. Anything interesting happening round here?"

"My love!" cried O'Gregan, leaping up and tenderly leading her over to the desk, She rolled the single eye Tonks could see, but nonetheless let him settle her into his chair as he Conjured another one next to it for himself. They looked at each other for a long moment, and then wrapped themselves in a bone-crushing hug.

Tonks bit her lip and turned back to her reports for a moment to give them what little privacy she could, trying not to grin at what sounded to her expert ear like a _very_ deep kiss. She looked up again when she heard an apologetic cough nearby, which proved to have been made by Bentley Williamson. "Er, Rhiannon …"

She broke apart from O'Gregan for a moment, and they both looked askance at him. "_What?_"

Tonks had never seen him look so awkward; he didn't even make a ribald joke about the touching scene he'd just interrupted. "Look, I … oh sod it. I'm _really_ sorry. I didn't know that little bit of filth would get ideas. I felt sick when I thought that you'd been … well, you know, and then I was so bloody relieved to hear you were OK – er, not that I'm not sorry about your eye," he added hastily, "I am, and, erm, how is it? How are you?"

She glared at him for a moment or two, then relented. "Not too bad, considering. Weak, still feeling rather sick off and on, and … the eye took quite a battering." Her expression turned serious when she glanced at O'Gregan.

"How bad?" asked her boyfriend sombrely.

"It looks awful underneath this patch and – oh Donnie, the Healers don't know if I'll _ever_ get the sight back. Even the other eye's still a bit blurry. They said it's still a wound from a very Dark curse, even if it didn't work properly, and it could take _months_ before they can tell if it's going to get any better …"

"Can I see?" he interrupted.

"I suppose." she said nervously. "I rather you _didn't_, you know. It _really_ looks terrible."

He shook his head. "Never mind that, now. Show me."

"I can't keep the patch off for long, I'm not really supposed to expose it to bright lights." She peeled off the eyepatch and everyone present winced at the bruising and jagged scarring clearly visible even through the thick protective layer of orange gunk. She squinted at the overhead lights and hastily slapped the patch over her eye again, managing to force a brave smile. "I'm afraid you're going to have to put up with me wandering around looking like this for a long time, maybe … well, maybe even permanently."

O'Gregan put a finger under her chin and tilted her head towards him. "If you are thinking that I care one whit about _that_, my love," he said quietly, "then let me tell you that I do not and never will. When you walked in that door, back on your feet again, it was the most beautiful sight I have ever seen in my life, now, whatever you have done to your eyes. I would not even care if they had to fit you with a special eye like old Moody's got." He stopped to think for a moment, then added, "Well, maybe not _quite_ the same as his. I would not be wanting you to be able to see _everything_ I'm doing, now."

Rhiannon laughed; she didn't say anything, but reached out her hand and squeezed his extremely tightly. Tonks and Williamson exchanged grins.

"Pity about your missus, Don," said Williamson heartily, obviously trying to cover for his embarrassment. "Can't you get rid of her and keep this one instead?"

O'Gregan scowled. "If you imagine that I have not tried everything I can think of … I suppose I could enter her for that Swedish broom race that flies through the dragon sanctuary. You never know, I might get lucky. Then again, the dragons might just wave her through, now. Professional courtesy." Rhiannon grinned at him with affection.

"Maybe that Bletchley bloke _will_ propose to her and take her off your hands, Don?" suggested Tonks.

"No such luck," he said gloomily. "I ran into her at the Hallowe'en Ball on the way back from the gents, and she made _quite_ sure to point out to me, _so_ sweetly, that she had no intention of doing anything unless he gets a cushy Ministry number in International Co-operation he's been angling for. Precious little Norah isn't going to tie herself down to a stick-in-the-mud like Bletchley unless there's prestige as _well_ as money guaranteed."

Williamson raised his eyebrows. "Wait a minute … did you say _Bletchley?_ Not _Francis_ Bletchley, by any chance?" At nods from the others, he grinned broadly. "Well, well, well. I may be able to do you a good turn after all, Don. I was chatting to Ellie Finchley earlier – you might want to have a word with her."

The others looked at each other blankly. "What for?" he asked.

"Because she _finally_ caught that bloke Horrigan who was nicking the old magic pianos …"

"Harpsichords!" said Tonks gleefully, pleased to finally get it right.

"… whatever. Anyway, guess which music buff turned out to be the one who placed the order with him in the first place?"

"Not Mr _Francis Bletchley_, by any chance?" said Rhiannon, with dawning understanding.

"Ten points to you, Miss Davies!"

"Blimey, I _thought_ that Bletchley bloke looked a bit worried at the Hallowe'en Ball!" cried Tonks. "He must have known Ellie was on his case, it won't look good if he's up for some posh job!"

"Oh, he was very careful to keep his nose clean. He didn't actually _tell_ them to steal the thing in as many words, just let it be known he wanted one. Of course, he'll have to give it back and say how terribly shocked he is that it was stolen – yeah, right – but that wouldn't automatically have to make the papers. But a little bird tells me – my Marcie actually – that he's likely to _get_ that job he wants. Very prestigious. He must have made good connections at those poncy little musical evenings of his. So suppose you were to point out to your Nasty Norah that a little word from you to a _Daily Prophet_ reporter might get Bletchley enough bad publicity to scupper his chances of getting the job, and therefore _her_ chances of playing at the high table too …"

O'Gregan exchanged glances with his lady love. "You know, my darling, that could work …"

"Won't all this come out at Horrigan's trial, though?" asked Tonks.

Williamson shook his head pityingly. "Maybe, maybe not, but we don't necessarily have to set the trial date until after they decide whether he gets the job, do we?"

"And the same thing with Carrack's trial!" cried Rhiannon, catching on with enthusiasm. "You know, we _might_ have to make that conversation Tonks heard in the beauty salon part of the evidence. _All_ of it, including the bits where Norah pretty much says she's only interested in him for his money!"

O'Gregan grinned. "It's underhand. It's blackmail. It's a Bludger straight to the guts. I like it!"

"Do we _want_ a crook in a top Ministry job though?" asked Tonks, looking around uncertainly.

Everyone shrugged, and Williamson snorted loudly. "One more won't make any difference. At least we'll have something embarrassing on him if we need a little favour any time."

O'Gregan kissed Rhiannon and leapt to his feet. "Excuse me, ladies and gentleman. I need to have a word with a colleague. Ben, old son, it looks like there may be something you're useful for after all, now." He dashed off, with a very relieved-looking Williamson following at a more sedate pace.

Tonks and Rhiannon grinned at each other; it suddenly struck Tonks forcefully that it was the first time she'd seen her friend since the curse had hit. The thought made her wince. "So how are you _really_, Rhi? I thought … well, I thought you were _dead_."

Rhiannon grimaced. "So did I when I heard him say that curse. At least, in the split second I had to try to get out the way before it hit me." Tonks could see the strain on her face and the way she trembled slightly as she remembered. "The Healers told me that Dark spell trauma very nearly did me in anyway. It's not the first time I've been at risk of getting myself killed, but – well, it's the closest yet."

"How are you handling it?" she asked carefully.

That got a twisted attempt at a grin. "_Badly_. It's a … bit of a shock when this sort of thing happens to you, however much you _think_ you can cope with it."

"And your eye?"

"Could have been worse, I suppose, but –" she looked at Tonks directly "– no, not much worse, really, and no, it's _not_ easy to accept. Buggers up your self-image, doesn't it?"

"You'll be OK, Rhi. You're tough," she said, hoping very much that she was right.

Her friend's laugh was brittle. "_None_ of us are as tough as we look. I hear that even old Moody was as low as my Gringotts balance for a while after he lost his eye. At least I've got Donnie to remind me life's got some good things in it too." She shook herself, making an obvious effort to snap out of it. "Yeah, I'll be all right once I'm back into the swing of things, I reckon. They say you need to climb straight back onto the broom, don't they? And at least now you've caught him, you won't need me any more, so I can get back to my other case."

"Any new clues?" asked Tonks, grabbing the opportunity to get her talking about something else.

"None at all. No hints, no leaks, no idea where they're going to strike next, not even a good _suspect_, except it's obviously someone with a serious Dark Arts background." She chuckled. "Maybe I should add _you_ to the list."

Tonks grinned. "Me? Yeah, that's right. I come from a family of known Dark Wizards, after all." She dropped her voice to sound as dramatic as possible. "And I have a Rare and Dangerous Power I use for Concealment and Disguise. I really only became an Auror because it was the perfect cover. _And_ –" she glanced at her desk "– look! I keep really _Dark_ Dark Arts books on my desk!"

Rhiannon laughed out loud at that. "You mean you _still_ haven't handed in that Muggle-hunting book yet and got your money back?"

"Hey, I've been busy!" She rummaged under the piles of parchment at the back of her desk and fished out the book. "Look, evidence! What more do you want, eh? Do I get to make a dramatic last speech before you Portkey me off to Azkaban?"

"No way. I get _so_ bored listening to those things." She picked up the book. "What's in this, anyway? _Hunting Muggles For Pleasure and Profit_ – hmm, charming title. Privately published in 1689 – not surprised, even back then this had to have been extreme, they signed the International Statute of Secrecy a few years later, didn't they?" She began to flick through the pages. "Ways to track your target. Curses to slow, and curses to kill. How to conceal the hunt so the local population don't get in the way. Charming little psycho, wasn't he? … What's the 'profit' bit about? _Ugh._ The late seventeenth-century going rate for various human body parts as ingredients for Dark Potions … Oh look, there's even a section on 'The Moral and Philosophical Basis For Muggle-Hunting'. Well _that's_ all right then. I'm sure he makes a very cogent argument for …"

Tonks looked at her in surprise as she trailed off. "Rhi? Something even nastier?"

Rhiannon was staring at the book as if she couldn't believe her good eye. "Oh _Merlin_. Do you know what I've just found?"

"What?" asked Tonks, alarmed.

He colleague read from the book in a tone of utter shock. "Listen to this. _'It is foolish to pretend that the Muggle race is anything but a poor imitation of our own, and no good can come of those who seek to blend the two to create monstrous and unnatural hybrids. In the dark days of the last few decades, when the weaklings among our number have counselled withdrawal and demanded of us craven concealment, we have allowed ourselves to forget the innate superiority of the wizarding race to that of the corrupt and degenerate Muggle. It behoves all of us to consider the worthy example of the noble Venetian Francisco Fiordano, and periodically remind the Muggles of this fact by demonstrating to them, and to the traitors in our midst, that we who are superior may do as we will and set our mark upon them.'_" She looked up, her voice shaking. "That's _it_, Tonks. _That's_ what that sick bastard I'm after is _doing!_"

Tonks gaped at her. "Rhi, you can't be serious. The _idea's_ the same, all right, but …"

"No, no, no, not just the _idea_," she said, shaking her head vigorously and wincing as it pulled on her eye. "_Look!_" She opened the book and pointed an illustration labelled 'The Mark of Fiordano'. It looked like a teardrop inside a circle with lines around it.

"Wait a minute," Tonks said slowly, as this description rang a very faint bell. "Isn't that …"

"The mark that nutter brands his victims with? Yes! It's _not_ a teardrop after all." She read from the book again. "_'The deep secrets of Fiordano's noble work were known only to those of like mind, as is only right and proper, but those whom he had hunted could always be identified by his mark, which we illustrate and explain here for the benefit of those who lack a grounding in the Venetian tongue. It signifies a drop of true wizarding blood, surrounded by a perfect circle representing purity, the whole guarded by wands. It inspired terror and mystery among those on whom his people worked their will …'_ I bloody _bet_ it did!"

"You think that _this_ book was where he got the idea from?" Tonks suddenly felt nauseous. "And I've had it in my desk all these months?"

"Right," said Rhiannon grimly. "I've never heard of a nutter called Fiordano, and neither had any of the people I asked what the mark might be, which I reckon means that he can't be that well known in this country. I'm going to see if Magical Analysis can get any traces off this, and then I'm going to talk to our Gogol and see how many _other_ copies of this book are reported to be still knocking about. And if, as I suspect, the answer is 'not many' – or just as likely, 'none' – then I'm going to call round to that Miss Prissy Orevel and teach her something about what _real_ Auror harassment is like."

"Rhi …" said Tonks in alarm.

"See you later, Tonks. _Locomotor book_." She hobbled out, floating the book with her wand. Tonks stared after her; she was pleased that Rhiannon was back on the job, but couldn't help worrying what the comeback might be. Especially as she'd apparently had _another_ vital clue in her desk for the last few months.

_Oh well. One more to add to the list._ She sighed and went back to her paperwork.

-----

_Saturday 7__th__ November 1994_

The weekend was blissfully free of Dark Wizard activity and spent largely with Chesney, who quickly caught on to two simple facts: one, she'd had a lousy week; two, she really didn't want to discuss it in detail. Once or twice she caught him watching her curiously as her mind wandered back to Rhiannon, Cassius, or the Hallendales, and each time she grinned at him and quickly changed the subject.

"Hey, my mum was asking about you," she said on one of these occasions, remembering that she had once asked when she would meet her daughter's new 'young man'. "She wanted to know if I was going to introduce you."

"Oh yes?" Chesney seemed to be displaying more than the usual level of uneasiness at meeting a girlfriend's parents, and Tonks hid a smile as she remembered the way she'd described her mother to him at the Ball.

_Well, if he's going to make it easy for me, no reason not to tease him a bit further, eh?_ "Yeah. My dad would like to meet you too, I bet! How does Friday evening sound?"

The immediate expression on his face suggested that it sounded like an invitation to act as a practice subject while she refined her technique with the Cruciatus Curse, but then he managed a wry grin. "I'm not going to be able to get out of this, am I?"

"Not really, no," she said brightly.

"That's Friday the thirteenth, isn't it?" He grimaced, as if the date felt somehow appropriate. "Well … go on then."

"That's the spirit!" She kissed him and made a mental note that she would have to actually warn her parents to expect a Friday night guest.

-----

_Monday 9__th__ November 1994_

When she arrived at the office on Monday morning, she was met with the encouraging news that the Veritaserum warrant for Clark Hallendale had been approved. "I don't want you to think that we _usually_ get them this quickly, Tonks, or indeed at all," admonished Cassius when she cheered. "We've been lucky in our cases – we've had villains caught red-handed committing serious crimes. Don't _always_ expect it."

"I won't," she promised, remembering the problems they'd had with the warrant for Charlotte and Cassius' Umbridge-related concerns about even asking for one in the case of Portia. "When are we doing it?"

"Noon. First I need to check something with our friend Lockhard from Magical Analysis, and make a few arrangements."

Midday saw them waiting outside Clark Hallendale's secure room at St Mungo's for his legal adviser, and that reminded Tonks of something his mother had said when they'd been there previously. "What did Angelica mean by your 'poppy', Cassius? Is it that paper flower thing you've been wearing for the last few days?"

He looked surprised. "Yes. It's a … um, war charity symbol, to show you've given money. Goes back to the Muggle 'Great War'. I lost friends in that war so I always like to contribute."

"I thought wizards were forbidden to fight in Muggle wars by the Statute of Secrecy?" she said, puzzled.

He raised his eyebrows. "Did I say they were _wizards?_"

"Ah," she said, embarrassed. "Then again, they _could_ have been. _Grindelwald_ didn't let the Statute stop him getting involved, did he?"

"Well, no. Except this was the war _before_ the one Grindelwald meddled in, back when he was just an aspiring Dark Wizard and not paying much attention to Muggle politics. It was only a few years after I'd joined the Department, actually."

That left Tonks even more embarrassed. "But that must have been … blimey, about eighty years ago!" She lowered her voice. "I sometimes forget …"

"… just how old I am? I know. _Too_ old for this line of work, I think you mean."

"I didn't mean _that!_"

Cassius just smiled, but didn't say anything. Fortunately, Harris turned up shortly afterwards to spare her blushes. He seemed surprisingly unconcerned about what his client might say, although Clark himself watched Healer Lethbridge take the Veritaserum from the bottle with ill-concealed fear. His eyes soon glazed over when she placed three drops on his tongue, however.

"Very well, let's start at the beginning," said Cassius. His voice sounded calm and professional, but there was a look on his face that suggested distaste for what he was about to do. "Clark, we'd like you to tell us how you first learned of Liquor of Jacmel."

Clark nodded, his face now tranquil from the effects of the Veritaserum. "First I heard of it was when your Patrol woman started asking about it earlier. What is it, some kind of potion?"

Cassius and Tonks exchanged startled looks, and he muttered, "Surely it can't be that he didn't even know the _name _of what he was selling?" In a louder voice, he asked, "Have you ever sold anyone a potion that was supposed to enable them to control someone else's mind?"

"Me? No."

"Have you _offered_ to sell such a potion?"

"No."

"Not even a legal love potion?"

"Not even that. I've never sold anything like that."

"That's daft!" hissed Tonks. "He sold Beatrice one! He tried to sell _me_ one when he thought I was her!"

Cassius looked suspicious, but shook his head at Tonks and tried a different tack. "When did you first meet the man known as Sylvester Ballantyne?"

"Sylvester Ballantyne?" His brow furrowed. "I'm not sure … probably when I was a young kid. I remember he was a sort of friend of my dad's."

Cassius seemed slightly mollified by that. "When was the _last_ time you saw him alive?"

Clark seemed puzzled. "Sylvester's dead? I didn't know that. I saw him in the Transfigured Toad one night. He was getting into a row with somebody." He had a pained expression, as if trying to recall something that was just beyond the edge of his memory. "Can't remember who, sorry."

"You didn't _know_ Sylvester Ballantyne was dead?" said Tonks. "He was murdered _months_ ago!"

"Bugger. I didn't know. Poor bloke."

"And did you conspire with him to kidnap the person you were meeting on the night you remember last seeing him in the Transfigured Toad? Or to administer spiked Firewhisky to that person?" asked Cassius.

"No I didn't, not me."

Cassius sat back in his chair and contemplated Clark. "Have you ever gone by the nickname of 'The Butler'?" he asked eventually.

He snickered. "I used to call myself that sometimes, yeah."

"Have you ever used it as an alias for criminal activity?"

"Nah. I've never done any criminal activity that I can remember – except for what happened when you tried to arrest me."

Tonks sat back. The interview was _not_ turning out quite how she'd expected, and under the circumstances she was more than happy to leave the questioning to the experienced Auror. She glanced up at a portrait hanging above the bed and frowned; it looked vaguely familiar, and she was _sure_ there had only been a poster there before.

"Then why did you run away when we did that?"

"Because I heard you say you wanted to arrest me. I must have got scared, I guess. I'm sorry about that. Is that woman OK? I never meant that curse to actually _do_ anything, you know, it was just supposed to frighten her like your bloke frightened me and give me a chance to get out. I nearly wet myself when it worked."

Cassius ignored the question. "Where did you obtain the items in that warehouse?"

"All over the place. When they were a good price, I suppose. The fireworks came …"

"Never mind those for the moment. Where did you obtain the illegal items? In particular, where did you obtain the two dozen bottles of Liquor of Jacmel stored in a crate marked 'Roland Rollfinger's Refreshing Restorative'?"

"I told you, I don't know anything about that. I can't remember a crate like that."

Cassius got up and motioned for Tonks and the Healer to follow him outside, leaving the Patrol guard to watch over Clark. As soon as they were out of earshot of Harris he said shortly, "Healer Lethbridge. Why didn't you tell me that his memory had been affected?"

"I didn't know it _had!_" she protested. "Why do you say so?"

"Because he's just denied things we _know_ he should know, while under the influence of Veritaserum," he said shortly.

She raised an eyebrow, obviously trying not to look sceptical, and failing. "Are you _sure?_"

"_Definite_," said Tonks, nodding vigorously.

"Weeeelll … we tested his reactions when he first woke, and he seemed normal. But it _is_ possible sometimes, you know. Traumatic amnesia can easily blank out the events in the few hours or days leading up to an accident."

Tonks spluttered. "But he remembers _those_. He just can't remember a bunch of _other_ stuff from months ago!"

"That _is_ unusual …" said Lethbridge with a worried look. "I mean, under normal circumstances, I'd think – well …"

"Yes, just say it," snapped Cassius. "The indications are rather clear, aren't they?"

"Well, I'd consider Obliviation, of course. But here that just isn't possible. He's been guarded by your people day and night."

"Not well enough, it seems," said Cassius grimly. "I've encountered that pattern of answers before. It's quite complete and it's been done fairly well, but they've missed things. Like that 'Butler' nickname. He only ever seems to have used that as an alias."

Tonks reeled. "Couldn't it have been done before he got in here? Maybe he went to one of his crooked Knockturn Alley friends before he went into hiding?"

"I don't think so. Not given the way he fought us. But it's certainly thrown arsenic into the potion." He turned to Lethbridge. "Where's the list of his visitors?"

"On the door." As Cassius inspected it, she added, "But the only person – other than our medical staff and your guards – that we've let anywhere near was his legal representative."

Cassius looked into the room, where the man in question looked back at him with just a suggestion of a smirk on his face. "_Harris?_"

"Yes, but he just stood by the door when your man showed him that his client was unconscious!" spluttered the Healer. "I think his brother arranged for him to be here …"

"Very well." His jaw clenched. "We'll go back in there and ask him everything we can, but I think the stable door's open and the Hippogriff has flown. We're going to struggle to get evidence on anything but the contraband and resisting arrest, and we _may_ have lost our chance of tying him to the murder of Sylvester Ballantyne. What a mess."

"But … what would be the _point?_" cried Tonks. "He used an Unforgivable Curse on Rhiannon! And Jacmel on me! They both carry life sentences anyway!"

"They're _liable_ to life sentences," he told her tetchily. "You didn't actually _drink_ the Jacmel, so I'm sure Harris will argue that the use penalty doesn't apply, just the _possession_ penalty, which is only twelve months. And the bottle he supposedly sold you was a dummy, so if we want to get him on sale we have to convince the court to believe the testimony of Barry Lewis. His Killing Curse wasn't successful and it seems he didn't mean it, and in circumstances like that, the court is often lenient." He stopped to think for a moment and then said more calmly, "Then again, if they add up the sentences for all the charges we'll lay against him it will probably still come to ten or twenty years, so as a matter of practicality he's still in a very bad situation."

"Well then …"

"But it ruins our chances of finding out if he has associates, who _else_ he might have sold it to, how he brought the stuff in. If I find out who did this –" he glared at Harris as he spoke "– they are in _real_ trouble. Come on."

Tonks listened with an increasingly sinking feeling as the interrogation proceeded. Cassius was asking everything he could think of, but he wasn't getting useful answers. Eventually he conceded defeat as the Veritaserum worn off, and Healer Lethbridge came back to administer another Sleeping Potion. Harris thanked the Aurors and left whistling a jaunty tune; Tonks had such a strong urge to grab her wand and jinx him that she actually felt her hand twitch.

The guard from the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol had an uncomfortable few minutes as an irate Cassius grilled him about visitors, despite his vehement denials that he had let any unauthorised personnel into the room. Tonks groaned inwardly at the thought of having to check and recheck for impostors who might have sneaked past disguised as a Healer. Cassius eventually gave up in disgust and called in to the Auror office, ordering O'Gregan and Cornworthy to find fresh people to act as guards, and then locate the other Patrol people on the current rota and grill them too.

He finally broke the contact and turned to Tonks, nodding to the door of Clark's room. "Come on. Our last chance. Let's see if we can get _one_ thing out of this that might be of use."

Tonks, baffled, followed him as he marched up to the bed and spoke to the portrait hanging above it. "Mr Ross – do _you_ have anything to tell us?"

She blinked, and suddenly realised why it looked familiar, he was the ex-Falcons player whose portrait they'd found in Ballantyne's house. He was nodding excitedly. "Yes indeed. That is most certainly the man who was there on the fateful day."

Cassius' smile showed great relief. "Excellent! You're positive about that?"

Ross shuddered in his frame. "That voice has been haunting me ever since Sylvester was murdered, Mr Smethwyck. I would know it _anywhere_."

"Wait a minute," said Tonks. "He wasn't here before. You had his picture brought in?"

He nodded. "Yes, it seemed the easiest way. Thank you Mr Ross, that's one of the few helpful things anyone's said to me all day."

"At your service, sir."

"Can _portraits_ testify in front of the court then?" asked Tonks, astonished. "I thought the Wizengamot didn't allow it?"

"Well technically, it's up to them whether they allow it or not – it depends on the circumstances and the possibilities of tampering," he said with a shrug. "Mr Ross' portrait has been in Lockhard's hands ever since the discovery of the body – I believe he's an art enthusiast, and rather fancied having an original Cierascurro in his office – so we should be all right if it comes to a trial." He winked at Ross. "Don't worry, old chap. I'll get you into court somehow even if I have to introduce you as an exhibit!"

They quietly ignored the affronted look on Ross' face and walked out.

-----

By eight-thirty that evening, Tonks was one of the few Aurors left in the building, having volunteered to write up the report on the interrogation as a favour to Cassius (she was worried about the possible effects on his blood pressure if he had to do the job himself). So the ringing of her mirror phone at eight-thirty-two was a welcome distraction.

"Tonks?" To her surprise, it was Kingsley Shacklebolt on the other end.

"Kingsley? What's up?" She jammed the phone between her ear and her shoulder so she could continue to work on the report while talking to him.

"Where are you? Are you free to talk?"

Tonks, guessing that he meant _free to talk about Sirius Black_, looked around to make sure. "Yes. I'm in the office, but it's practically empty at the moment. Where are you?"

"Never mind. In private. I've been trying to get in touch with you for a day or two, but you've been busy. You did say you were willing to follow what I asked of you, yes?"

Tonks felt a surge of excitement, mixed with a twinge of guilt. She'd almost forgotten about her cousin's case in the rush of recent events. "Yes! What do you want me to do?"

"For a start, don't get too excited. And if anyone asks what you're doing, break the connection _immediately_ and make up some rubbish to tell them. Basically, this could be a complete waste of effort or it could get us somewhere, I'm not sure which. We'll just have to try it and see."

"Go on then," she said, adding a scribbled note to the parchment on the desk to catalogue yet another of Clark Hallendale's unhelpful answers.

"If I can, I want to find out more about what Albus Dumbledore really knows about our … ah, subject of interest. And I don't want to ask him point blank because I'm not sure he'd tell me."

"So where do I come in?"

"_You_ come in as a relative who's seen the basic case reports and isn't quite convinced by them, maybe has looked into the files a bit and picked up some snippets of information the general public don't have. I want you to contact him and ask to tell _you_ his story, as a personal favour to an old student. _Don't_, whatever you do, let him know that you know all the stuff I've told you, or even that you're in contact with me. And if he asks you up to the school for a private interview, for heaven's sake don't let him use that Legilimency thing on you. Play on your family connections to Sirius Black, it might give you an 'in' with him. Got that?"

"Got it. Sounds nice and simple anyway." She nodded as she said it, and the phone slipped from under her chin and dropped to the floor. She could see Kingsley grinning in the mirror as she bent down to pick it up. Then she suddenly froze, finally saying, "Oh _bugger_."

"_Tonks?_ Is someone coming?" he said urgently. "Break the …"

"No, no, there no-one's coming," she said impatiently. "Just a brainwave. About the work I'm _supposed_ to be doing."

"Oh yes?"

"Yes. I've a feeling we've made _another_ balls-up."

His image winced. "I understand you've had a few of those recently. That's not going to impress Rufus."

"Don't remind me. See you later, Kingsley." She broke the connection, then sat back and thought hard for a good ten or fifteen minutes. Then, with sudden decision, she jumped up and went over to the WEB Access.

"Mr Gogol?" she called.

Gogol bustled into the frame. "How can I help you?"

"Am I right in thinking that we still have the World Cup records? And that we can now get access to foreign records through you? Arnold Cornworthy was doing it for stuff from the Caribbean the other day."

He nodded, looking pleased. "That's right. In fact, given a little time I can access the records of most magical governments and some Muggle ones for you, it's a very impor …"

She held up a hand to cut him off before he got too far into his stride. "Good. We'll get back to the World Cup stuff later, but first I've got something I want you to look up in the foreign records again. You're going to be busy …"


	28. The Things We Do For Love

**27. The Things We Do For Love**

_Wednesday 11__th__ November 1994_

Tonks had the foreign information she wanted in her hands by mid-morning Wednesday, Gogol – or at any rate, the charms that assisted him – having proven surprisingly efficient. At any rate, it was a surprise to her; the portrait himself was rather affronted when she said so, and it took her a good five minutes of cajoling to mollify him enough to go and find the World Cup files for her without sulking.

She smiled sweetly as he went off to wherever they were stored in his little painted world, then scowled at the now empty frame as soon as he was out of view. She'd had more than her fill of obstreperous portraits over the last few months. _With any luck, I won't have to encounter any _more_ of them for at least a couple of years …_She hoisted the smile back on her face as he returned. "Are the records still there?"

"Indeed they are." He waved his wand and the document she'd asked for appeared in the scroll at the side of his picture. She read through it to the end and then back again, double- and triple-checking, and nodded to herself. It supported the conclusion she'd drawn from the other records, in a negative sort of way. She sighed. It wasn't a conclusion she felt happy about, but then, there were a lot of things about this case that she didn't feel happy about.

"Did you see what you were looking for, miss?"

"No, I didn't." As his face fell, she added hastily, "And that's _exactly_ what I thought I might find. Thank you, Mr Gogol."

She wasn't sure where Cassius might be – he'd spent most of the previous day interrogating the Patrol guards on duty outside Clark Hallendale's room, and getting absolutely nowhere – but fortunately, he was back at his desk when she went searching for him. "Any luck, Cassius?"

He looked up and shook his head in frustration. "None whatsoever. All of them swear blind that none of his associates came anywhere near the place – except for _Harris_, of course."

Tonks considered this. "Does he have a record for doing this sort of thing?"

"I haven't been able to find one. Of course, he's represented clients who have denied knowledge of crimes under interrogation, but none who have so _obviously_ been Obliviated." He threw up his hands. "I don't know whether to suspect him or not. I'm _sure_ he had an inkling that it had been done, but I can't see how he could have done it himself through a closed door. And to be honest, I can't think why he would take the risk."

Tonks didn't feel that Harris was the answer, but it couldn't hurt to check. "Does he have the skill? Or does he know any dodgy ex-Obliviators for hire?"

Cassius snorted. "Probably. It wasn't a perfect job, though, as you saw – it was what I would call a solid _amateur_ Obliviation. A quick wipe of everything to do with criminal activity, but missing a few things round the edges – and that made it obvious what had been done. It certainly kept him from incriminating anyone under Veritaserum, but he was left with a lot of gaps in his memory. He's been in a bad way because of that."

Tonks nodded: "You're _positive_ that it's a case of Obliviation to beat Veritaserum, not amnesia?" she asked, wanting to make sure all the goal hoops were covered. "And done _after_ the accident, not before?"

"Don't _you_ think so?"

"Well, yes, I do. But you're got more experience of this than I have."

"Well, it's not common, Tonks, but I've seen the symptoms before, yes. And as for why I think it had to be afterwards – well, Clark didn't _know_ for sure that we were on to him until we turned up at his brother's office. He'd have had to work fast and take big risks to arrange it between then and the time we arrived at his hideout. More pertinently, when you and Bentley were trying to distract him during the fight, what he shouted back at you quite clearly showed knowledge of the night he tried to kidnap you using Jacmel. But when we interrogated him, that memory had _gone_."

"What's your theory?"

He sighed. "I'm seriously beginning to wonder if _Montgomery_ could have sneaked in disguised as a Healer. I _know_ it's a wild theory, but nothing else seems to make sense."

"Monty as a Healer?" she said in surprise. It wasn't quite the theory she had in mind, but she was relieved that he'd at least contemplated it. She had a nasty suspicion that his guilt-trips were causing him to go easy on the Hallendale family.

"I hope it _isn't_," he said, with obvious resignation. "The problem is that everything we heard about the 'Butler' suggested he was a lone wolf. Who else but his brother would _want_ to help him? On the other hand," he added hopefully, "if Clark was really the agent for someone _else_ and he went to them for help after we came after him, this could be the perfect way to set him up."

"You think so?" Tonks groaned inwardly. _Maybe I spoke too soon. Thought too soon. Whatever. This isn't good._

"It _could_ be. Then again," he said gloomily, "In that case, we're back in the position of looking for leads on the people he associated with."

"That's true. If we can find someone who'll actually tell us." She hesitated, then added, as casually as possible, "Have you told his mother about his current situation?"

The sadness on his face spoke volumes. "No. And she hasn't tried to contact me again. But then, I don't imagine she _wants_ to, so that's probably for the best."

"So … suppose we go and tell her?" When he hesitated, she tilted her head and gave him a pointed look. "Convince her that Clark's not the blue eyed boy she thinks he is, maybe? Ask her who his friends were?"

His reluctance was obvious. "Well, I don't think there's much chance of _that_. But perhaps we ought to really …"

"That's the spirit. Come on then." She jumped up and started for the door before he could change his mind.

-----

The Floo station was the most convenient Apparition point in Worthing, which meant a walk to Angelica Hallendale's home, taken in gloomy silence. Both Aurors hesitated as they approached the door, and Tonks seized her chance to ask, "Do you want to go in first?"

He blinked at her. "I suppose so – why?"

"Well … it might help if you gave her a bit of warning that I was coming?" she said, shuffling her feet and trying not to trip over them. "You know – make sure there's nothing breakable, give her time to get used to the idea, eh? She didn't seem to like me much last time I was here."

He chuckled. "I'll see what I can do."

He knocked on the door while Tonks hung back by the gate, out of sight from the house. Whatever it was he'd said, it seemed to have worked; at any rate, when Tonks cautiously knocked on the door and entered some ten minutes later, Angelica didn't seem unduly alarmed by her presence.

"I've explained what the current medical situation is, Tonks," said Cassius, with just a suggestion of reassurance.

"Good – you must be rather upset about Clark losing his memory, Mrs Hallendale?"

Angelica winced. "Indeed. Although Cassius tells me he could be in even worse trouble." She eyed them sharply. "All right, now you've told me his current medical condition. What about his _legal_ condition?"

Cassius took a deep breath. "I'm afraid he's going to spend time in Azkaban for the attempted murder of an Auror, Mrs Hallendale. The court _may_ be lenient if they believe he didn't actually mean to kill …"

"And we're going to do everything we can to make sure he goes down for the murder of Sylvester Ballantyne too, Mrs Hallendale," added Tonks, her voice harsh. "We may not have Veritaserum evidence, but we can work around that."

Cassius flashed her a sharp, almost panic-stricken look, but she ignored it. Angelica's lips were set in a tight line. "Well, in that case I … I'm _glad_ that he's lost his memory," she snapped. "Traumatic amnesia, no doubt. I hear it happens a lot in accidents."

"A very _specific_ trauma, don't you think? More like an Obliviation, really."

"Really?" she said coldly. "Well, if so, I'm afraid I'd have to _thank_ whoever did it if it helps him, Miss Tonks. I'd have done it myself if I could."

Tonks' smile was positively feral. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Cassius' concerned look. "You did have the perfect opportunity, Mrs Hallendale. You were hovering over him for quite a while when we let you in to see him."

She didn't expect that to go down well, and it didn't – Angelica's reply was laden with sarcasm. "Except for the fact that I'm what you people call a _Muggle_, Miss Tonks. Am I supposed to have been _channelling_ someone?"

Cassius finally seemed to have realised that Tonks had something definite in mind. He looked, and sounded, aghast. "Wait a minute, Tonks. Are you suggesting that it was someone _else_ disguised as Angelica that day, using Polyjuice? But who else would care about Clark that much … oh no …"

"I see. Don't tell me, let me guess," said Angelica in a biting voice, sounding rather shaken. "You're accusing my _other_ son now? I'll have you know Monty was in a meeting all afternoon when I went to see Clark, or I'd have brought him with me. His secretary will tell you that if you ask her."

"I've no doubt she will," said Tonks. "Let's try it, shall we? What's the number of his office?"

She fished in her pocket, took out her mirror phone, and held it out to a surprised Angelica, who took it after a moment's hesitation and pressed some buttons. Cassius was staring at Tonks as if he thought she'd completely lost the plot. There were a few moments' silence, and then a voice from the phone saying "Hello?"

Angelica gave a surprised squeak, and Tonks knew that she hadn't expected the mirror to pop out. She plucked the phone from her hands. "I'm sorry, wrong number." She broke the contact and rummaged through her pockets again, eventually bringing her hand out with something clasped in it. "Handy little gadgets our people came up with."

"Yes. Another thing we Muggles came up with _first_," replied Angelica snidely. "I'm surprised you could even get it to _work_."

Tonks smiled at her. "Yeah. You know something? So am I. That's the thing, you see. It _shouldn't_ work. In fact when I tripped over your carpet on my last visit, it fell out of my pocket then, and I seem to remember that you picked it up and threw it at me."

She snorted. "So what? Are your magical 'phones' so fragile that they can't take a little rough treatment?"

Tonks noted that Cassius had gone very still. "Oh, they're quite capable of taking _that_," she told her. "But they're charmed to stop working if a Muggle touches them. They have to be reset. I never thought of it at the time, with everything else that was going on, but guess what? I've never had this reset since then, and as you've seen, it still works perfectly. Even for you. Funny thing that, isn't it?"

By the time she'd finished speaking, Angelica Hallendale was as still as Cassius. "So? Perhaps your people, er … _charmed_ it wrong."

"I don't think so. It's not the first time I've dropped it. But let's find out, shall we?" Tonks could hear the strain in her own voice; she knew she _had_ to say everything she wanted to right away, because if she didn't she might lose her nerve. It really wasn't that much fun playing the Bad Auror. "Cassius, step back over there by the window for a moment, that's right." He complied, staring as she opened her hand to reveal her wizard detector compass. "This is something else they gave me when I started. Detects the nearest wizard or witch – I never thought it would come in handy, but you never know, do you?"

She took out her wand and tapped the compass with it, and the needle immediately swung to point to Angelica Hallendale. "Well, well," she said in a flat voice. "Look who's been hiding her light under a bushel, then."

There was a frozen silence from both of the other people in the room. Angelica was the first to respond. "I'm not going to stand for this rubbish!" she cried. She spun on her heel, and then froze again.

"I did _wonder_ if you would know how to Apparate, Mrs Hallendale," said Tonks to her back, almost apologetically. "That's why I made sure to go round the house putting Anti-Disapparation Jinxes on it before I came in. Just to be on the safe side."

Angelica crossed her arms and appeared to be hugging herself.

"Angelica …" said Cassius, his voice cracking.

He didn't get very far before she whirled round on them, brandishing a wand. "_Stupe …_"

"_Expelliarmus!_" cried Tonks, who had been expecting this. The wand flew out of Angelica Hallendale's hand, and the loose material on her sleeve that had concealed it flapped as she blindly turned and ran for the door.

Tonks raised her wand again, but Cassius shocked her by casting a voiceless Stunning Spell that hit Angelica in the small of the back just as she reached the doorway. She fell through it into the hallway and collapsed onto the floor.

There was a very long pause while Tonks stared at Cassius and he stared back, and then he said quietly, "The mirror phone. I didn't notice. I never even thought about that." It was evident that the words were being forced out.

She moved over and put a hand on his arm. "I didn't either. If I had, we'd have had a better case."

"I refused to believe she was _involved_ in any of this. I should have known th …"

Tonks interrupted before he could begin the self-flagellation at which he'd demonstrated such prowess over the previous week and a half. "So should _I_. It was _my_ mirror phone, after all. It was just that … well, first we had that stand up row, then we got the unexpected tip-off from those lads in the pub, and _then_ we were rushing around to get things set up, and after that … well, it was chaos, wasn't it?" She gave him a rueful smile. "Not surprised we overlooked it, really. Right pair, aren't we?"

Cassius was staring fixedly at the inert form of Angelica Hallendale like a man who couldn't quite accept what he was seeing. "How were you _sure_ she'd handled it?"

Tonks tried to sound sympathetic. "I fiddled about with Arnie's Image Projector until I convinced myself I'd remembered it the right way. It's like a limited Pensieve, after all. And then, all sorts of little things clicked into place – how young-looking she was for her age, how familiar with magic, the fact that we seemed to see her use _ordinary_ Floo powder to get Clark away from us after the Hallowe'en Ball, not that special enhanced kind that works for Muggles too. It all fit, _if_ she was really a witch all along."

"That's still nebulous," he argued. He still didn't seem as if he'd quite taken in the recent developments.

"Yeah, but once I'd got that far I realised there were things I _could_ check," she told him. At his mute look of inquiry, she tried to explain her reasoning. "It made sense of why she wasn't bothered by the Muggle-Repelling Charms at the World Cup – she didn't _need_ Monty to counteract them, they didn't affect her in the first place. She was supposed to have gone through the proper procedure at the security tent after I told her off, but I checked the records this morning, and she didn't bother – of course, if she _had_, somebody might have noticed she was a witch."

"I see."

She put a hand on his arm tentatively. "Then I remembered how you said the magical Caribbean used to be chaotic, but the governments were a lot more organised now. Arnie had no trouble getting Wells' Floo travel records. So I played a long shot and asked Gogol for _school_ records, and it came off. Turns out that some place called the Blue Mountains Institute of Spellcraft is the only decent magic school in the whole Caribbean, and they sent her an invite when she turned eleven. They never got a reply, and their policy at the time was not to bother chasing up Muggle-borns from islands that weren't English-speaking. But when they set up the Caribbean Magical Federation, copies of all the school records were transferred centrally. The letter was still there in their files."

Cassius lifted his eyes from Angelica and turned to stare at Tonks instead. She felt sure that she'd seen utter betrayal in his expression while he looked at his former lady friend. "Pretty solid Auror work, young lady," he said eventually.

"To make up for my earlier mistakes, you mean?" she said with an uneasy chuckle.

"You found something – well, _suggestive_, even if it wasn't actually _proof_, I suppose."

"That was the trouble. But I reckoned I could startle her into doing something daft if I sprung it on her out of the blue, and – well, it worked." There was a touch of regret in her voice as she contemplated Angelica Hallendale, who was just beginning to stir.

"_Why_ would she conceal the fact that she was a witch all these years?" he asked, sounding like a man being strangled by Devil's Snare. "Do you think she was in on all this from the beginning, or just protecting her sons?"

"I don't _know_ why she did it," she told him gently. "We'll ask her. She might well have known more than she let on, though." She hesitated, the added, "For what it's worth, I think she really _did_ tell you the truth – just not all of it."

"I don't suppose it really matters now, does it?" he said, with a stiff look and an even stiffer voice. "Let's get her in to the Department. Don't forget to pick up her wand."

-----

It took them a little over three hours to complete the routine arrest procedures, and then gather the other members of their little team and explain the situation. Tonks would have laughed in glee at the looks of sheer dumbfounded surprise on their faces if it hadn't been for Cassius' obvious unhappiness – the last thing she wanted was to give him the idea she was laughing at _him_. In actual fact, she'd rarely felt more sorry for the man who'd been partner, boss, and friend to her in turn.

They interviewed Angelica immediately afterwards, a meeting with a very different atmosphere from that of the previous occasion they'd all been in an interview room together. Angelica looked exhausted, Cassius looked bitter, and Tonks herself just looked between the two of them, feeling sad. She wasn't sure how Cassius wanted to handle the situation, or even if he _could_.

He began in a businesslike manner, albeit one that seemed more than a little artificial. "Mrs Hallendale, you have been brought here to be interviewed and to receive notice of the actions to be taken against you. You will be charged with concealing evidence of a crime by means of spellwork, and with attempted assault on an Auror. Further charges …

"Cassius …" began Angelica miserably.

He carried on as if she hadn't spoken. "… may be brought against you as a result of a review of evidence that we develop. You will be given a trial before such members of the Wizengamot as may be assigned …"

"I'm _sorry_, Cassius. I didn't want it to come to this …"

"… to hear the case and pass sentence if convicted." He paused. "You should know that I have applied for a warrant for further interrogation under Veritaserum, so if you have anything to confess it may encourage the court towards clemency if you do so now."

They stared at each other in silence. Tonks, hugely embarrassed, decided that she'd better take the lead to try to get their prisoner talking. "Angelica, let's try something easy, something that isn't actually a crime. _Why_ have you been hiding the fact that you're a witch for all these years?"

She hesitated; then with a half smile and an odd touch of pride, said "Habit, would you believe? I never actually learned magic till I met Hank. I started so late, and our life was such a … a _scramble_ for the first few years, it took me a long time to get the hang of it. So we just didn't tell anyone I was a witch, in case they got the wrong idea about how much I could do."

"How long did it take Hank to realise what you were, then? It was a bit of a coincidence that a wizard turned up at your house, wasn't it?"

Angelica snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. My family _always_ knew strange things happened around me – it was one reason my father kept me in the house so much, he was scared someone might _see_." There was slight bitterness in her voice now. "Do you know he never even _told_ me when I was offered a place in that Jamaican school? He didn't trust these mad people who wanted to take me away to some British island, and teach me something he didn't understand. But by the time I was sixteen, the accidental magic had gotten so frequent he _had_ to tell me what I was before I lost my mind. He agreed to get me a private tutor instead, and that's where Hank came in. He applied for the job." She had a reminiscent smile. "Poor Hank, he wasn't that good at teaching really, but he _was_ good at talking his way into things."

Tonks glanced sideways at Cassius, but he seemed content to let her fly with the Quaffle. "But what _good_ did it do you to keep it quiet?"

"People underestimated me, of course," she said smugly. "Just like _you_ did for all these months. It got us out of many a scrape when we were young, so when we came here we saw no reason not to keep up the story."

"In _that_ political climate?" put in Cassius with incredulity.

"We'd never cared much about you pure-bloods looking down on us," she snapped, and he winced. "It wasn't such a problem out there. But by the time we realised that we could be in danger _here_ with the –" she shuddered "– Death Eater types as a Muggle married to a wizard, it was too late to change. A Muggle-born was just as bad or _worse_ to them anyway, especially one who'd acted like a Muggle, and a bigger potential threat. So we kept up the old routine. Kept our heads down, kept them sweet if we could. Hid what I could do – even if it wasn't all _that_ much really, just the most important spells."

"'Kept them sweet', Angelica?" asked Tonks softly. "Used Hank's contacts to obtain things they might want, you mean? I thought you didn't know what he was up to?"

She flushed. "I didn't. Not … _really_. I knew the general sorts of things he was involved in. I didn't ask him the details. I didn't want to know them."

Cassius spoke up. "It'll all come out under Veritaserum anyway, Mrs Hallen … oh forget it, _Angelica_." He sounded both bitter and weary. "And Hank's dead. It can't hurt him if you tell us, but it might help you. Oh, of _course_," he added as she remained silent. "Your sons took over the business. _That's_ why you won't talk. Well, we'll discuss this with Monty too."

"Montgomery never had anything to do with that side of things!" she cried, then paused with a grimace. "Oh."

"So Clark _did?_" he said. Angelica stayed tight-lipped.

"Why did you let Clark meet you after the Ball?" asked Tonks in tones of genuine bemusement. "You must have _known_ the risk that he might run into someone who could identify him – me, or Beatrice Easton, or anyone _else_ he'd dealt with."

"Of course I knew!" she shrieked. "I _told_ him he shouldn't do it! I always warned him not to come near _either_ of you! Why do you think I tried to stop you looking at his photographs when you called? But he –" a tear trickled down her cheek "– never listens to me when I tell him things like that. When I told him who _you_ –" she nodded at Tonks "– were he realised he shouldn't have done it, but it was too late then, wasn't it?"

"And he asked Montgomery to hide him in that little back room where he keeps wizarding records?"

"Yes. He didn't say _why_, but he knew his own brother wouldn't say no to him, however much they argued." More tears fell as she looked at them in mute appeal. "Clark was just furious at the idea I was there with _you_, Cassius. The enemy, as he saw it. An Auror. _The_ Auror who was investigating him. He never saw that … well …"

"There was a tactical advantage to getting that Auror's friendship?" he said coldly. Tonks was relieved to note that Angelica still didn't know about the situation with Hank, and was glad Cassius had had more sense than to tell her.

"Not quite that …"

He interrupted her again. "Let's discuss what happened at the hospital." When she tensed visibly, he added, "Magical Analysis have _already_ tested your wand for spell echoes, and can show that it was used to Obliviate Clark. Tell us about it."

She shrugged. "You know what happened, then. I went and bought one of those new invisible holders, like Miss Tonks here had at the Ball. I had the wand concealed in it, and you never thought to check. I finally –" her voice broke "– managed to work myself up to cast the curse."

"_Curse?_" said Tonks.

"Charm, curse, whatever," she said bitterly. "To wipe the memories! I always hated using that spell, but as I learned – well, sometimes you don't have a choice. I never thought I'd have to … to … to cast it on my own son." She teared up.

"What did you _try_ to Obliviate?"

"Anything to do with his business," she said, sniffling. "I didn't want him telling you about _that_ under Veritaserum. And anything he knew about Sylvester of course."

"You were even willing to cover up for him for a murder," said Cassius in a disgusted voice.

She raised her chin defiantly. "Yes I was. He's my _son_. I told you, I'd do _anything_ to keep him out of Azkaban if I could. Even this. Wouldn't _you_ if it was _your_ child?" Cassius looked slightly discomfited, but he didn't answer.

Tonks contemplated the older woman sadly. What she was about to say would hurt – but they needed to jolt her into talking freely, and she wasn't about to mention any possible caveats. She adopted her blunt persona once more. "Angelica – it won't help him. What you _don't_ know, because we made sure the information didn't leak out, is what happened when we went to arrest him. He used a _Killing Curse_ in the fight. That in itself makes him liable to life imprisonment in Azkaban, whether we can get a conviction on the other charges or not. You didn't keep him _out_ of there by doing what you did, Angelica – you just put yourself _in_."

Angelica half-rose from the chair in shock and stared at Tonks for a few moments, then began babbling incoherently as tears streamed down her face. "Oh no, oh no, what have I done my poor Clark oh no oh no oh no no _no no_ _NO!_ …" The words trailed off into an inchoate scream as she broke down completely in hysterics.

Tonks glanced at Cassius, who was watching this performance stony-faced – although she suspected that he was fighting hard to maintain it. She interrupted after a minute or two as the sobbing began to run down. "Tell us, Angelica! If you give us information _now_, before anyone knows you've been arrested, we might be able to use it in time to do us some good. And –" she was uncertain whether such a promise would be accepted by the Auror Office, but it couldn't hurt to try "– I suppose we might be able to do a deal." She looked at Cassius for confirmation, and got a very slight, stiff nod. "At the very least, we can keep Monty out of it if he hasn't done anything serious."

"All right," she said, not bothering to raise her head. She sounded both exhausted and defeated.

"How much did you know about what Clark was up to?"

"About as much as I did with Hank," she mumbled. "I knew what _sort_ of business he was doing. I didn't _want_ to know the details. I didn't ask who he saw or what deals he made with them. Sometimes I told him about contacts Hank had when he asked. There was someone out in the Caribbean he wanted to know about a few months ago, some old friend of Hank's that he remembered being told about as a kid."

"_Where_ in the Caribbean?" put in Cassius sharply.

"Port-au-Prince," she said, still listless after her previous hysteria. "Does it matter?"

Cassius exchanged glances with Tonks, who felt her jaw drop in surprise. "If you can give us the name and contact information, it might matter a _very_ great deal to you," he said.

"If you say so …"

Tonks marvelled as Angelica's resistance proved to have now completely collapsed, and a positive stream of information about the activities of her husband and son poured from the despairing woman in response to their questions. She wasn't sure how much would actually prove relevant, but still, there were also occasional titbits of personal interest. She finally realised _how_ Clark had become suspicious of the 'Beatrice Easton' who'd ordered Liquor of Jacmel from him – Angelica had told him that they were investigating her, and also let slip that Tonks was a Metamorphmagus. After that, even Clark had been able to put two and two together.

She was shaken out of these contemplations by Cassius standing up, turning off the Auto-Dictation Quill that had been recording everything said, and gathering up his papers. As she scrambled to her feet Angelica looked up at them. "Cassius? I … I … I want you to know that I wasn't _just_ trying to find out what you knew. I really _did_ like you, honestly …"

She crumpled into her chair as he swept out without a word. Tonks nodded to her, not unsympathetically, and followed him.

-----

She found him looking out of the picture window in the hallway, which showed a dull grey rainy day, entirely in keeping with their mood. "Are you OK, Cassius?" she asked tentatively

"Of course not. You seem to have flown rings around me on this case all the way through."

Tonks shook her head. "Come on mate, most of that was sheer luck, really – I just had things happen to me that gave me an idea. You know that as well as I do."

"But you had the sense to make good use of the luck you had to _run_ with those ideas. Not everyone does that," he replied. "I'm impressed. I only hope Rufus is too. He won't be impressed with _me_."

"Why ever not?"

Cassius frowned "Well, I'm certainly not looking forward to explaining to him how I let someone Memory Charm a prisoner right under my nose. Not after the warehouse incident."

"I was there too, remember? At the time, it never occurred to _me_ that she was a witch, either. And, well – I'm not going to drop either of us in it by mentioning that incident with the mirror phone, unless he finds out about it from her. I left that bit out of the reports."

"Good. Rufus will want to see them first _before_ he turns us into hamsters, but … it's not looking good. We already have a somewhat strained relationship because of our family connection, as I'm sure you know."

Tonks stared at him until she remembered. "Oh yeah – I suppose that does put the cat among the pixies a bit. Is it awkward for you both, having to report to your nephew?"

"Great-nephew by marriage actually," he said, looking thoughtfully in the general direction of Scrimgeour's office despite the wall in the way. "It's not _that_ close a relationship. But yes, sometimes it's very awkward indeed."

-----

_Thursday 12__th__ November 1994_

Tonks kept the following day free of commitments in the expectation of a summons from her boss – although it seemed even money whether she would be hauled over the coals about the final results in the Jacmel case, or merely asked to explain and then reassigned elsewhere. With Lewis, Horrigan, and both Hallendales in custody there wasn't much she could do anyway. She wondered vaguely if she might be assigned to help the Haitians track down the original supplier named by Angelica, but it seemed unlikely. Quite apart from the fact that the local wizardry would probably want to handle it themselves, she had a suspicion that first-year Aurors who'd stumbled their way through their initial case didn't usually get free trips to the Caribbean as assignments.

The summons to the office didn't come, however – although no-one had seen Cassius all day, which in itself was an ominous sign. She made a conscientious effort to catch up on her routine paperwork, but by mid-afternoon boredom had set in and she was reduced to exchanging flirtatious memos with Chesney by paper aeroplane.

She couldn't resist sending one to remind him of his promise to meet her parents the following evening, nor was she going to miss the opportunity to tease him by repeating her libellous statement about the possible parental reaction to her boyfriends. The reply was light in tone, but with an undercurrent of trepidation, and she wouldn't have been surprised if his hands had been shaking when he wrote it. She had no sooner launched the reply when Rhiannon Davies approached her, and she greeted the diversion with relief.

"Wotcher, Rhi!"

"Wotcher yourself," she said, dropping into a chair. Her skin was still pale, and there was a dark circle around her visible eye, but she looked determined, albeit nervous. "Where's Cassius?"

"Off chasing up warrants. And as a side benefit, avoiding talking to Scrimgeour. Do you need to talk to him?"

"Not really … I wanted to find out what you'll be doing next. You're pretty much finished on the Jacmel cases now, right? No major loose ends?"

Tonks considered it. "Don't think so. If we get a warrant to interrogate Angelica Hallendale under Truth Potion we might get something we didn't have before, but honestly I'm not bothered either way. She was pretty much broken already, I don't think she held anything important back."

"So what's lined up for you? Any orders from Scrimgeour?"

"No news of an assignment so far. Why?"

Rhiannon smiled ruefully. "Because however much I insist I'm well enough to be back at work, I'm not exactly on top form at the moment. I'm weak, I'm not sleeping well, and I can still only just barely see straight. I'm going to need some help following up that Fiordano lead, and I thought you might appreciate being part of it? Even if it just ends up as something you do in between other stuff they dump on you, if you want in, I'll ask for you to be assigned to me. You found me the clue, it's the least I can do."

Tonks demurred. "I'm not sure, Rhi … Cassius might want my help in whatever he gets next, and – well, I reckon he could do with a bit of support right now."

"Has he had another case assigned to him then?" asked Rhiannon keenly. "He said he didn't have anything lined up when I talked to him earlier on."

"That's correct." Neither of them had noticed him come in, and they both jumped.

"Hi, Cassius!" said Tonks, recovering quickly. "How's the warrant?"

"They're considering it. I laid it on thick about Memory Charms having been used to thwart an earlier warrant – that will probably annoy them enough to grant it." He turned abruptly to her companion. "So, Rhiannon, you'll be requesting Tonks' help in hunting your killer? That's good. It'll give her valuable experience on a slow-burning case."

"I don't want to split up a good team, Cassius," she said awkwardly. "But if you don't need her …"

"I don't think I do," he said, rather to Tonks' disappointment. "I'd like a word or two with her, actually." As Rhiannon nodded, he added, "Er, in private?"

"Ah. All right. Be seeing you then." She got up and headed back towards her own cubicle, moving somewhat gingerly.

"What's up, Cassius?" asked Tonks, feeling rather curious. "I was hoping to help with whatever you're doing next."

That got a slight smile from him. "You're leaving the Department too? They'll be a bit short-staffed, then."

"Leaving? No, of course I'm not …" She trailed off. "Cassius? Now just wait a minute! You can't be …"

He held up an envelope addressed to Amelia Bones. "Yes, I can," he said softly. "I thought you had the right to be the first to know. I'll certainly help you finish tidying up any loose ends on the Jacmel case, but then – it's about time I left." She watched in disbelief as he rose. "I'll see you in a minute, Tonks – I just need to go and hand this in to Rufus Scrimgeour first."

He set off across the office; Tonks stared at his retreating back for a moment or two, then scowled and picked up her wand. "_Accio_ letter!"

He looked round in surprise as the letter was plucked from his hand by the spell and shot across the room towards her. "Tonks …"

"_Incendio!_" she said, holding her wand to the letter and directing a defiant stare at him, although her gesture rather lost its dramatic effect as the flames singed her hand. "_Ouch!_" She dropped it into a wastebasket, where the scrap parchment it contained promptly caught fire too. "Oh bugger … _Aguamenti!_"

She waited until the fire was out then looked up at him sheepishly, sucking her sore fingers, and as a twirl of smoke rose from the wastebasket they both fell about laughing. Cassius shook his head and came back to sit down. "I can always write it out _again_, you know, Tonks. Unless you plan to set the Ministry on fire to stop me going?"

"Hey, if that's what it takes …" She became serious for a moment. "_Why_, Cassius? What on earth do you want to resign for?"

His smile this time was rather sad. "Because this last week or so has shown me just how bad my judgement has become. I should have seen the signs with Angelica Hallendale long ago, but I let my guilt over Hank …"

"Oh, rubbish," she said impatiently. "I didn't see them either, and you didn't find _out_ about Hank until a few days ago. That's a huge pile of dragon dung and you know it. What's _really_ behind this, Cassius? Is Scrimgeour objecting to how you handled the case – well, more than he always does?"

"Not so far …"

"There you are then! Look, Cassius … one mistake doesn't mean you should leave! You told me yourself, none of us go very long as an Auror without messing _something_ up, and we have to get used to it, right? I've only been here six months and I think I've got _that_ lesson down pat! And you told me an Auror needed to have confidence in their own ability. You're bloody good, mate. However much _you_ think you've forgotten, I'll bet you still know more than most of us put together."

"There's more to it than that, Tonks."

"Well _what_, exactly? Come on, Cassius, you _can't_ just walk out. You owe me that much, yeah?"

He gave her a long look, followed by a sigh and a nod. "Very well. For a start, with Rufus as my direct boss, that would be increasingly embarrassing for both of us."

"Are you sure? You don't know what he thinks …"

"I'm sure. I asked him and he told me," he explained when she looked sceptical. "We _are_ sort of family, after all, and we worked together for a long time back in the old days. He owed it to me to be honest about that."

"Well, yes, but …"

"But that's not the main problem. There's always the possibility that World Cup riot will turn out to be more than an isolated incident, especially if Rufus and Amelia win their argument with Fudge and really start stirring things up investigating You-Know-Who's supporters. I don't know if I can _handle_ another situation like that, Tonks. Recent events have brought that point home to me rather hard."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I might let people down if it comes to a _fight_, Tonks. Don't you see, the thought of getting someone killed because of an old man's mistakes _terrifies_ me? Ever since you were nearly kidnapped, because I let myself get Stunned and left you without someone watching your back, I've been trying to hold that fear down. But when in the space of a few days you were nearly poisoned – and then you reminded me of the Jugson case and I realised how what I might have done there affected people I knew – and then I thought I'd lost one of my team in that warehouse – well, it became clear to me that I wasn't succeeding very well at holding it down." He took a deep breath to steady himself. "I'm not sure I can cope with risking colleagues any more, Tonks, and I'm _definitely_ not sure I can be ruthless towards criminals when it's needed. And as an Auror, if you can't do either one of those things … well, you're a liability to your colleagues, not an asset."

"_I_ was scared about losing Rhiannon, you know," she said gently. "And I got my broom in a tailspin when Ballantyne managed to get himself murdered after my screw-up. Don't you think _I_ can do the job then, because I worry about people I care about getting hurt?"

"No, I didn't mean _that!_" he said, horrified. "You managed to get through it …"

"Well, give _yourself_ more credit for being able to do it then. That's what you tell me, isn't it?"

His sad smile was back. "Except you've been lucky enough not to actually _lose_ a colleague yet, so you don't really know what that feels like. I do, and that's why I know I've got a problem. In this job there's always a chance of it, always a chance you'll think of something _you_ might have been able to do to prevent it. And I'm aware you tend to take these things to heart too, young lady. A word of advice from a man who knows – if and when it happens, whether you can get through it and still function as an Auror _despite_ your feelings will go a long way to showing you whether or not you can handle the job in the long term." His expression was extremely sombre. "And in my case, I don't think I _can_ any more."

"Maybe it won't happen. Maybe you're just a bit emotionally fragile at the moment with everything running together, eh? We all want you here …"

"Really?" he said with a half smile. "_You_ do, perhaps, but then we've worked together ever since you arrived. I'm not sure the _others_ are as comfortable with me. Even Rhiannon was trying to get you reassigned to her, wasn't she?"

"Well …"

"I'm old, Tonks." He held up a hand to forestall any remark she might have made. "Maybe not exceptionally old for a _wizard_, but I'm old for an _Auror_. It's a young person's game, really."

"You don't seem too old to _me_."

"As I said, you're used to me, and even _you_ were shocked by it the other day. It's just the little things, Tonks. I didn't notice it so much before I retired, but after a decade or so off the broom … most of the Aurors don't know me that well, even if they remember me – and they evidently feel awkward around me." When Tonks looks unconvinced, he added, "I mean, no-one even seems to feel comfortable telling me the latest jokes. I never did hear the one about the troll, the hag, and the leprechaun, and it's been making the rounds since summer."

"You're kidding!"

He gave her a wry look. "Actually, no, I'm not. See what I mean?"

"Well, we can fix _that_," she said after staring open mouthed for a moment. "You see, a troll, a hag and a leprechaun all go into a bar, and after a few drinks, they all start boasting about the things they're best at. 'I'm the strongest creature in the world!' claims the troll, 'There's no one on this planet who could beat me in a battle, and I can crumble a mountain into pieces with the palm of my hand!'

"'Oh yeah?' says the hag. 'I'm the ugliest creature in the world! After being exposed to my horrific face, people will beat themselves to death rather than live with the memory of it! I can shatter mirrors just by glancing at them, and even Medusa herself tore out her eyes rather than gaze at me!'

"'Really?' says the leprechaun, 'But I am the luckiest creature in the world, now! Last week I sat down on a rock, only to realise that it was actually a pot full of gold, diamonds, rubies and all the treasures one could ever imagine! I never fall ill, even the smallest accidents avoid me like the plague, and I always win every contest I take part in!'" She stopped for a moment and blushed at the realisation that she was actually acting out the joke with gestures.

"Go on," he said, grinning at her.

"Well of course none of them believe each other, so they decide to visit a Seer to find out if any of them were telling the truth, right? Luckily, there's one just down the road so they nip round and go in one by one. The troll goes first, and a few minutes later he comes out with a big grin and tells the other two that the Seer told him he was right. The leprechaun's next – he gets the same answer, and comes out singing and dancing. Finally, in goes the hag. A minute later she comes out looking extremely upset, and yells at them, 'Who in the name of Merlin's armpits is Dolores Umbridge?'"

Cassius stared at her for a moment or two, and then suddenly roared with laughter. After a moment or two Tonks couldn't help but join in. "Perhaps they thought she was a friend of mine or something," he said eventually, still chuckling.

"She's not, is she?" asked Tonks, alarmed.

"Good heavens, no. Awful woman. I've known her since she was a junior assistant and I never could stand her." He got up. "Thank you for that. But I'm serious, Tonks. _Honestly_. The Department stretched a point to let me back anyway – I had to call in favours and use a little emotional blackmail – and until the Jacmel cases came along, they didn't really know what to do with me. I've had a last hurrah now. It's about time I stopped clinging to the past, and the memories, and did something else while I'm still active enough to do it."

"Will you at least _think_ about staying on?" asked Tonks. "For me?" She wasn't above trying a little emotional blackmail herself.

He opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again, looking at her with exasperation. She waggled her eyebrows at him in as comedic a manner as she could manage. "Oh, all right," he said ruefully. "I'll _think_ about it. No promises though."

"OK." She hesitated. "I feel like I let you down. As if I didn't make you feel wanted or something."

He shook his head emphatically. "Believe me, Tonks, you've exceeded my expectations. In fact, I might even consider giving you an 'O'! And as for not making me feel wanted … far from it, you did something wonderful for me."

"I did?"

"Yes, you did. Quite often when we were working together, you helped me feel _young_ again. Believe me, there are few greater gifts that you can give to someone who no longer is."

He smiled at her and walked out the door of the Auror Office. As she turned back to her paperwork, she was mildly annoyed to find that her eyes seemed rather moist.

-----

_Friday 13__th__ November 1994_

"Ready, Ches?"

Tonks glanced at her boyfriend in amusement. He was hanging back by the gate of her parents' house, and didn't look ready to face them.

"Are you _sure_ about this?" he asked, following her slowly down the path to the front door.

She had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing. "It's only my mum and dad, Ches. They don't actually attack on sight. And we can't back out now, can we?"

He gave her the ghost of a smile. "I don't know. Are you _absolutely_ sure it's not too late for me to Transfigure my appearance, grab a Portkey to Outer Mongolia and hide in a cave?"

She squeezed his hand in encouragement and rang the bell. "Come on Ches. You faced _Death Eaters_ with me once. This can't be so bad."

"Is that an available alternative? You know, I'd consider that …"

"Ha ha," she said, elbowing him in the ribs. The door opened as she did so. "Oh, hi Mum! This is Chesney. Ches, this is my mother – Andromeda Tonks."

Chesney swallowed and hitched a nervous smile on his face. "Good evening, Mrs Tonks."

Her mother smiled back politely and looked him up and down in an obvious process of assessment, but without giving any indication of what conclusions she might have come to. "Good evening, Chesney. I've been hoping to meet you for a while now – Nymphadora has really told us _very_ little about you, other than the fact that you've been seeing each other. I've been wondering what you were like."

Tonks cringed inwardly, for the first time unsure whether this was such a good idea after all. _I've been busy! When I come round here for Sunday lunch, I want to relax, not be interrogated about my latest boyfriend!_ "Mum, listen …"

"Do come in," said Andromeda, cutting her daughter off and stepping back to allow them in. Tonks grabbed his arm and led him into the living room, where her father was waiting; he shook Chesney's hand, but also (to his alarm) gave him a brief critical examination. He indicated that Chesney should take the settee, and she made a point of sitting down next to him. He flashed her an appreciative glance at the display of solidarity.

"So you're Chesney, eh?" said Ted, evidently trying to be as friendly as possible. Chesney gave him a tight nod; Tonks had attempted to tell him that her dad had long ago learnt that it was useless being overprotective with a child whose ambition was to be an Auror, but she wasn't sure that the message had sunk in. "We knew our girl had a new young man, but she hasn't told us much about you yet."

"Oh?" He looked at Tonks in mute appeal, clearly a little hurt by that.

She gave him a bright smile back to say _sorry, I'll make it up to you, all right?_ "I'm sure you don't want to hear _everything_ about my love life, Dad, now do you?"

"Well, you rarely tell us _anything_, Nymphadora," said her mother. Chesney grinned at the use of her daughter's first name and Tonks flashed him a _don't you dare_ look. "We didn't know how serious things had become between you and Chesney, whether it was just dating or … something more."

Neither of them could suppress their blushes quickly enough; Andromeda Tonks raised her eyebrows and said a soft "_oh_," which made them blush even more.

Ted rushed in to rescue them. "What is it you do then, Chesney?"

"Ah … I work with the Committee on Experimental Charms."

"I see. Interesting job?"

"Yeah, quite a lot of variety," he said, sounding relieved at having a safe topic of conversation. "More interesting than being stuck behind a desk in Gringotts or something, anyway!" Her parents' expressions froze into polite smiles, as Tonks tried unsuccessfully to shake her head without making it obvious that she was doing so. Chesney flashed her a look that clearly said _why didn't you bloody TELL me what your dad did then?_

She jumped into the conversation to try to smooth over the hitch, now thinking that this _definitely_ hadn't been such a smart plan. "Yeah, he was working on this Triwizard thing, weren't you Ches?"

"Bit of a blast from the past that, isn't it?" said her father quickly, picking up on the idea and helping her out. She could have hugged him. "Annie here tells me it was a big thing at one time."

"Oh … yes indeed, it's rather a legend," she said. "Back in history, of course. I remember my grandfather talking about how _his_ grandfather had been disappointed when the last attempt to revive it failed. Apparently the old man complained that modern society wanted to mollycoddle his students, instead of allowing them to take their chance to show merit despite the risks." She glanced up at the books on the shelves with a most unexpected wicked smile. "In fact, I think half of Fifi LaFolle's heroes are steely-eyed ex-Triwizard Champions, you know …"

"Mum …" said Tonks, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, pish, Nymphadora. I notice _you_ haven't brought back that copy of _The Heart's Plenty_ you borrowed from me. But then Comte Richard de la Marelais, the Pride of Beauxbatons, _is_ an especially dashing hero …"

"Mum!" she cried, horrified, as Chesney turned to her with a delighted grin. She reddened again. _This habit of leaving books lying around and then forgetting to deal with them is going to get me into trouble. At least, unless Fifi LaFolle's semi-historical tripe somehow involves the Comte catching a mad Italian mass murderer …_

"Did any of the Blacks ever take part in it, Annie?" asked her father with interest.

"One or two, I think. I'm not sure they _survived_, mind you, but they were probably chosen."

Chesney's eyes widened; it had clearly dawned on him for the first time who his girlfriend's family really were. "_Blacks?_ Wow. You're from quite a … prominent line, then?" he said, turning to her.

Tonks saw her mother's lips tighten, and cringed inwardly. Once more it was her father who hastily stepped in to cover the awkward situation. "Of course she is. She's a Tonks," he said with a grin. "But I'm sure the Thompsons are too, in their own way. So how did you two lovebirds meet each other, then? World Cup security, wasn't it?

"Yeah, we were assigned to the same team," said Tonks with relief. "Patrolled the campsite together, told people off for doing magical things in public, tried to stop the mascots having a go at each other, that sort of thing." She didn't think it would be tactful to add _fighting nutters in masks_ at this point.

"Got into rows with friends and relations," added Chesney, attempting bonhomie. "She told off my friends, I told off her rela … er …"

Tonks jumped in quickly. "Er … I forgot to tell you, mum, we ran into Aunt Narcissa's boy on the campsite …"

"_Draco?_ I didn't know you'd ever met him! What happened?"

"Erm … well, he was being rather offensive … er, uncomplimentary about Tonks' parents … ah, that is, you," said Chesney, cringing slightly. "I'm sure it was just one of those family things …"

"What did you do?" asked Ted.

"Well, he was doing the pure-blood speech kind of thing, I kind of pretended I could arrest him for causing trouble and ticked him off …"

"You ticked off my nephew for insulting us?" said Andromeda. When he nodded unhappily, she finally broke out into a broad smile. "Chesney, I think you and I are going to get along very well indeed …"

-----

Tonks found herself breathing a huge sigh of relief as her parents finally let them out of the house at the end of the evening. Once all parties were past the initial awkwardness, they'd been getting along quite well, and she thought – or at least _hoped_ – that Chesney had made a good impression. She'd never exactly been one to appreciate interference from her parents in her choice of boyfriends, but after seeing what had happened with the Hallendales she felt _very_ grateful for her own family.

As they reached the end of the path, her mother gave a brief squeal before flushing in embarrassment. Tonks followed her gaze, and to her surprise saw a large black dog by the gate.

"Hello boy, where did you come from, then?" said Ted, patting him. He barked and wagged his tail.

"Hang on a minute – I've seen this dog before," said Tonks, doing a double take.

Her mother nodded. "So have I. He was hanging around the house a few months ago. Scared me half to death then, as well," she added ruefully. The dog's tail ceased its thumping on the floor.

"He's hardly a Grim, mum," she said, laughing and tickling him behind the ears, which started the tail wagging again. "But I'm _sure_ I saw him when I went to visit –" she stopped and thought better of saying exactly _where_ in present company "– a suspect a _long_ way from here. If it's the same dog of course …" She contemplated it uncertainly; it certainly _looked_ like the same one she'd seen in Leeds, but if he'd been hanging round Islington …

"I don't suppose it _can_ be then," said her father, voicing her thought. "Unless its owner has moved down here?"

"The one I saw before was a stray," she said doubtfully. "I suppose it _must_ be a different dog. Bit of a coincidence, though. It really looks like him." She went to scratch the dog behind the ear again, but as she did he slipped his head to one side and made a great show of sniffing at her hand as if to fix the scent in his mind. Then, to their surprise, he suddenly barked with loud enthusiasm and began to gambol around them.

"Well, he seems to _like_ you, Nymphadora, anyway," said her mother. Tonks dropped on her haunches to pat him, and he licked her face briefly.

"Shouldn't I be doing that?" said Chesney jokingly.

The dog gave him a very dirty look, although Tonks felt quite pleased that he'd actually been confident enough to make such a remark in front of her parents. "What do you want, boy?" she said. "What's so special about us, then?"

The dog sat down and looked around their group very carefully, almost seriously. His gaze rested first on Tonks' face, then on her mother, briefly on Ted, and then returned to Tonks. She watched this performance in puzzlement; it almost seemed as if the dog was trying to decide on something, and when he climbed back onto all fours again she felt sure she was about to find out what. Then he looked up at Chesney, contemplated him for a long moment, and sat back with a plaintive whimper, his ears drooping.

"Cheer up, dog. We won't hurt you," she told him. The dog barked, puts his paws up on her shoulders for a moment and gave her another lick on the cheek, then as he dropped to the floor again suddenly turned tail and ran off into the night.

They exchanged baffled glances at this bizarre canine behaviour. "Well, _that_ was curious," said Chesney.

Ted Tonks burst out laughing. "The curious incident of the dog in the night-time, eh?" The laugh faded as he realised that nobody else there understood him, and he shook his head pityingly. "It was a key clue for Sherlock Holmes? Oh, forget it.."

"Never mind, Dad," Tonks told him. "I'm sure it isn't anything _I_ need to pay attention to as a detective!" She glanced thoughtfully at the shadows into which the dog had vanished. It _was_ curious that the dog had been so similar to the one visiting Lupin, even if she couldn't think of an obvious connection for the moment.

She kissed her parents goodnight and walked the short distance home to her flat with Chesney. The dog could wait. _One to think about later. Maybe._

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The joke about the troll, the hag, and the leprechaun is supposed to be the one Dumbledore was about to tell at the Welcoming Feast in GoF – the version here was supplied by **Door** at FictionAlley Park when I opened a thread asking for suggestions. (AFAIR – FAP is having problems at the moment, so I can't check.)


	29. Epilogue: Between Midnight And Day

**Epilogue: Between Midnight And Day**

_Sunday 15__th__ November 1994_

**a. The Woman Who Tried Her Best**

Angelica Hallendale tossed and turned uneasily on the small, uncomfortable bed in one of the outer holding cells of Azkaban Prison. She still didn't know if the actions that had put her there had actually helped her son. The young woman Cassius worked with had been sure they could still pin the crimes on him, and she could be telling the truth. Even Aurors did sometimes. She attempted to comfort herself with the thought that the Dementors would have less to work with if he couldn't recall what had happened to him, but that was little consolation. She could still recall it.

The last few days had been ... well, a nightmare. No other word for it. She remembered clearly the shock of abruptly coming to her senses, and finding herself in a small room with the two Aurors looking at her in a very unfriendly manner, one that made it clear that their previous acquaintance wouldn't help her one bit.

She'd had many a run-in with various wizarding authorities in her time, of course. When she'd been assisting Hank in his, ah, slightly disreputable line of business that had been only to be expected, after all. But he'd always kept her well away from anything that could land her in the clutches of the Aurors, or their Caribbean equivalents. Fines were one thing. Even the few nights, or weeks, that she'd spent alone while Hank was in the cells of some tiny wizarding prison in Martinique or Aruba or St Lucia hadn't been too bad. But now here she was, arrested on charges that could leave her stuck here for _years_.

She'd known people who'd been sent to the Rock for a long stretch – Hank's friends, Clark's contacts – and she'd seen them when they got back. Well, at least they looked like the people she'd known, on the outside. They didn't behave like the people they were when they went in.

She slept fitfully. In her dreams – rather, in her nightmares – there flickered scenes of dark rumour and terrified imagination, scenes she'd never witnessed; Hank falling lifeless as figures in masks and cloaks surrounded him, Clark trapped and shouting a desperate curse, herself helpless to prevent the flashes of green light as she lay screaming.

**b. The Departmental Retiree**

Cassius breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he dipped his quill into the inkpot for the last time, added the final few sentences to his letter of resignation, and signed his name. He'd asked for a little favour from his superiors, but realistically, he had little expectation that his request would come to anything. But that was no reason not to _try_.

He tied the letter to the leg of his post owl, and opened the window to let it fly away. He realised, on reflection, that he should probably have stayed at the Ministry to finish it; but it was far too late to worry about that now. At least it would arrive on Rufus' desk early next morning. And then – well, his great-nephew by marriage was aware of the practicalities of politics. He might take Cassius' hint that it would be embarrassing for him if his relative hung around the Department, finishing a case – and that a quick trial and lenient punishment for Angelica Hallendale would be a reasonable price to pay to avoid that.

He looked around the study sadly. It wasn't that there was anything obvious in the room itself to be saddened by – but practically everything in it reminded him of his wife, and his Auror career; the things that had once been all of his life. But maybe, just _maybe_, the letter that had arrived yesterday morning from Bill Redderton contained the solution he needed.

Cassius smiled as he picked it up to read through one more time. He'd met Bill the _first_ time he'd encountered Liquor of Jacmel, over twenty years before, when there had been an alarming rumour from the Caribbean that it might be offered to the Death Eaters as a weapon for use in the nascent British wizarding war. The Auror and the Magical Investigation Bureau agent had teamed up, tracked down the main suppliers, helped the ineffectual local authorities put them out of business, and along the way had become friends for life.

The case had been one of the highlights of his career. In a way, it seemed appropriate that his _last_ case as an Auror would involve the same elements.

Bill's letter announced that he too had decided to retire, after what Cassius knew to have been a long and eventful career (he felt sure he wasn't actually _supposed_ to have been told some of Bill's stranger and less credible war stories, but he wasn't going to tell anyone else about them). Apparently Bill now planned to start his own freelance investigative agency in order to stave off boredom. Somehow, he'd managed to read between the lines of Cassius' last letter and deduce that matters had become uncomfortable for his old friend; he'd added a postscript that contained a delicately phrased offer to reconstitute their old partnership if Cassius ever felt like taking on a new challenge.

Cassius turned to look at the framed photograph on the corner of the desk. He had never tired of looking at it in the thirty years since it had been taken. It showed himself and Emily in their back garden, holding hands, smiling at each other. Their photographic versions looked up at him with sympathy.

It had been more than two years since she died, after nearly sixty years of marriage. He'd been forced to get used to sleeping alone again, but as he'd thrown himself into work once more it had eventually become easier.

So maybe a new challenge _would_ be good for him, would help him move on, would give the lie to Rufus' snide inquiry as to whether his detective ability had deserted him. It hadn't so far.

**c. The Stray Dog**

Mopsy arrived back at her home at about half past eleven that night, glad to return to her little darlings. She could hear the barking start as soon as they heard the sound of the gate creaking, as it always did.

As she raised her wand to the lock, a movement at the bottom of the garden caught her eye, but when she turned it was only that big black stray, gazing at her from the end of the path. She looked at it quizzically. It seemed like a perfectly friendly, playful, likeable sort of dog, not the sort of savage hound that might have been turned out by its owners.

"Here, boy!" she called, clicking her fingers at it, slightly concerned nonetheless. It seemed to have had a square meal or two recently, but still looked painfully thin. "Are you coming to say hello to old Mopsy, then?" The dog looked at her with a curious expression – it might almost have been sadness – whined in an oddly gentle way, and quietly slunk away into the night.

Around the corner he stopped at the beginning of a small pathway and sat back tiredly on his haunches for a moment, then shook himself and began the long climb up the mountainside. The cave he'd spotted there was a comfortable enough place as any to spend his nights. But before he could curl up there for a well-earned rest, there was just one more thing he had to do.

As he slipped into the cave a pair of large orange eyes met his gaze. Sirius turned back into his human form and bowed deeply to the hippogriff, who looked pleased to see him – or at least, as pleased as a hippogriff ever looked. He glanced up to see Dumbledore's owl perched on a ledge near the roof of the cave, looking equally pleased to see him (it was casting nervous glances at the hippogriff), and waiting patiently for a reply.

Sirius looked around morosely at his surroundings. He would have been much more comfortable staying in the village with the batty old lady and her pack of ill-assorted strays that he felt an odd kinship for. But the risk of discovery was too great for even Sirius to contemplate. He had never fully mastered the art of _behaving_ like a dog, certainly not well enough to fool the real thing. Not to mention that even batty old ladies who took in strays were unlikely to take kindly to one who brought a hippogriff along for the ride.

He couldn't afford to be caught and turned over to the Dementors, of course – but neither could he risk taking residence anywhere where Fawkes could not appear privately to fetch him to his godson's side at a moment's notice, if the Triwizard Tournament went as badly as Dumbledore feared.

He and Harry were the only _true_ family either of them had, after all.

Well no, maybe that _wasn't_ true in his case.

The potential dangers of the Tournament were a chilling thought, and one he preferred not to dwell on, so he took quill in hand to report on his little trip down south. Even if Dumbledore hadn't known about it, the man surely couldn't argue with success. Because although he hadn't mastered dog _behaviour_, he'd certainly got the hang of using his dog _senses_ when in his Animagus form.

When he'd found an Auror at Moony's house, he'd been prepared for a fight – but the scent of her hand had registered in some canine-influenced part of his brain as 'old friend'. And since neither he nor Moony had any idea where he might have met an Auror called Julia Marshall before – he'd been _almost_ sure she wasn't one of his youthful conquests – it had raised a strong suspicion that she wasn't who she claimed to be.

It had taken him more than a week of racking his brains while transformed to remember _why_ the scent was so familiar – he'd smelt it mere months before, when he'd passed by his cousin Annie's house for old times' sake on the way out of the country. And with that realisation, the pieces had suddenly fallen into place: little _Dora_, who had been able to look like anyone she wanted – but evidently no longer little, as he suddenly recalled that on that July evening his cousin and her husband had been talking about their daughter's new job as an _Auror_. He'd been so overjoyed to make the connection that he'd forgotten to transform back until Buckbeak had started to scratch the ground nervously at Padfoot's joyful barking.

It had been a simple matter to confirm his deduction two nights ago, although unexpectedly hard to see their little family group – Annie and Ted still together and happy, little Dora all grown up with a boyfriend of her own, a painful reminder of things long past and things never known. He had actually been on the verge of revealing his identity to them on impulse; it had been sheer good fortune, and the presence of the boyfriend, that brought him to his senses at the last moment.

But if it had been Dora who visited Moony that morning – then that surely meant she thought he might be innocent, and was willing to go beyond her authority to confirm it. And that meant she wasn't following the official Ministry line, which in turn meant that she might be a useful ally for the Order if Dumbledore was right about the possibility of Voldemort's imminent return.

Sirius smiled as his quill flew across the parchment, outlining this reasoning for the Headmaster's benefit. Here, at least, was something he _could_ do for the cause. He hadn't had any opportunities to help in a very long time.

**d. The Faithful Husband**

Benjamin Farley made a valiant attempt to stay interested in the rubbishy folk band Finley McAllister had hired for the evening. But at the moment, he had far too many other things on his mind to give a toss whether the hero and heroine in some old song would ever sort themselves out.

For one thing, there was his wife, who _still_ hadn't properly forgiven him for what had happened back in June. Not that _that_ was exactly going to knock the foundation out from under his world, but the fallout from that night meant he might have to testify at a trial, always a nerve-racking experience for someone in his line of business even when he wasn't the one handcuffed to the chair. And then … there was the little blonde honey that his mate Mick _swore_ had had her eye on him all night. He might be right. She'd drifted by several times now and flirted with him quite outrageously.

He preened slightly as she approached him again, feeling very glad that he'd spruced himself up for the occasion.

"Are you the man who helped catch a _Dark Wizard and Witch?_" she asked in a husky voice. Taken aback for a moment, he caught sight of Mick giving him a wink and a thumbs-up as he went to the bar, and suddenly understood what he'd done.

"Yeah, that's me, girl …" He found himself talking about his recent adventures – how he'd been trapped into helping the murderer through no fault of his own, how he'd fought the Dark Magic long enough to stop him actually killing the poor sod they were after, how those useless Auror morons had been baffled until he'd set them on the right track – and if he was improving the story slightly, and would never normally have boasted about helping Aurors, well, as long as this honey was hanging on his words that was nobody else's business, was it?

"How about another drink?" she asked, picking up his empty glass. He blanched at the sudden horrible flashback.

"Er, had enough, I think. How about you?"

She smiled. "Me too. Well, no need for us to stay in this pub then, is there?"

"No –" he couldn't miss the message "– let's go then, er …" Farley suddenly felt a wave of panic, throat tightening, heart racing, cold washing over him. "No, hang on …"

Her look of surprise could have been funny, in another time and place. "Sorry?"

He swallowed. "Er …" He took a step or two towards her, but he could feel his nerve failing as soon as he did so. "Look – think I'll just stop here a bit? Band's pretty good. You'd better go if you want." Her mouth fell open in shock, then closed into a tight line, and he watched helplessly as she did exactly what he suggested, turning on her heel and striding out of the door. He'd reached for his glass and raised it to his lips before he remembered it was empty.

"What's the _matter_ with you?" It was Mick, looking at him as if he'd just grown an extra head. "Your old lady's not here tonight, is she?"

"Nah …"

"And you turned _her_ down? She was _fit!_"

Farley shuddered. "Don't care if she's got all the best bits from a Veela, Zara Gabon and Helen of bleeding Troy, mate. I'm not going _there_ again. Too bloody risky …"

He decided to go and get another double – no, better make that triple – Firewhisky. He wasn't sure if he'd be well received Apparating back home to the wife up north tonight. But if not, he'd be _much_ better off sleeping alone.

**e. The Experienced Auror**

Nymphadora Tonks glanced at the clock on her bedroom wall, which was registering a few minutes to midnight. She was mildly surprised to realise that over the past six months she'd become used to turning in by now ready for an early start at her job, but tonight she had a letter she wanted to check through – just _one_ more time.

Its tone and content hadn't been easy to judge, especially as the addressee had always left her feeling a little overawed. She'd actually wondered if he'd remember who she was, until it dawned on her that Metamorphmagi were so rare that a student with that power would be unusual and memorable to even a man of _his_ vast experience. Eventually, she decided that the best she could do was play to her strengths, try to sound open and upbeat and informal, and hope that he didn't interpret it as silliness.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore, _

_First of all, if the following letter seems presumptuous, I must apologise and hope you'll forgive me. Likewise, as I know you're an extremely busy man, I won't be at all offended if you have too many calls on your time to grant what I admit is probably an unusual request from one of your old students._

_With any luck, you may remember me as the last person to be accepted by the Auror Office – although I admit you might remember me best as the Metamorphmagus who didn't always behave herself at Hogwarts! However, I'm also, as I'm sure you know, a cousin of the escaped convict Sirius Black. I was only a young girl in 1981, of course, but it was still an utterly horrible feeling when I heard what had happened – it felt like a personal betrayal, and I always wondered how he could have done such a thing._

_I've researched the Auror files thoroughly in the hope of learning exactly what happened that night, but it seems he never chose to tell anyone from the Auror Office why he did what he did. However, I couldn't help but notice a report that you yourself attempted to talk to him on the night of June the sixth. Unfortunately, there was no record of this conversation in the files, but I would dearly love to know if he told you anything, however small, that might show what his motivations were? I have even heard strange rumours that suggest he claimed to be innocent!_

_I hasten to add that this is a personal plea only – I haven't been ordered to approach you by my bosses or anything, and in fact I would appreciate it if you could see your way clear to keeping this between us for the moment, because I don't want to give the impression of being obsessed! So I'm not asking this as an Auror, but as your former student and as a relative of the man concerned – and truly hope that I'm not out of line in doing so._

_Yours sincerely_

_Nymphadora Tonks_

She read through the letter carefully, hesitating after every sentence; it had the potential to get her into hot water if it came to the notice of her superiors. A less specific message merely asking for a meeting would be safer. Then again, the Dumbledore she remembered from school didn't seem like the kind of man who would insist on following official rules to the point of ignoring such a request for confidentiality – especially as it was the same kind of request that he himself had made when writing to Kingsley. And a more detailed, heartfelt letter probably stood a better chance of catching his interest …

Tonks shrugged. _Stuff this, it's about as good at it's going to get._ After all, even if the letter fell into Ministry hands, it didn't actually say she believed Sirius was _innocent_ – merely that she wanted to know more, something she could easily explain away. She _had_, after all, checked the official case files with Gogol back in September, just as the letter said. And she'd definitely heard Departmental rumours of her cousin's innocence – she knew that Kingsley had made sure to spread them as cover for expressing his own doubts.

Nymphadora Tonks picked up her wand and tapped the letter to wrap it up, cast a security charm around the seal for good measure, and fastened it to the leg of her owl, who seemed happy to have a late-night delivery for once. As he flew off into the night she felt a sudden jolt in her stomach at the thought that she had just taken an irrevocable step. She hastily closed the window and added a silencing charm to stop herself being distracted by the traffic noise outside. With that, her nerves settled down.

She was really looking forward to what the next few months might bring. She was sure that it was going to be the start of something big.

THE END

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**Author's Note:** Well, I hope that's a good place to finish, with Tonks having solved her case and now taking steps that will bring her to the attention of the Order of the Phoenix. I'm probably forgetting a number of things I should mention in the rush, but I should say that Rhiannon's 'serial killer' case is left unresolved because it was meant to be setup for a sequel (yes, I do know who did it) – I have a some rough outlines for that, so again if DH doesn't spike this whole 'NTLJ-verse' too badly, I may write it ... And if you got this far, thank you very much for reading!


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